It's Not A Love Potion
by CrystalP734
Summary: "Now, lust potions develop feelings of desire in the taker without the affection that a love potion gives, so Malfoy, you will find that you continue to see Potter as the insufferable twit that he is." Slash. Not HBP/DH compliant.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Fuck you, Zabini!"

Students milling in the Hogwarts Entrance Hall were forced to scatter as a skinny blond-haired boy with a pale pointed face hurled through the doors from the Great Hall. He was soon followed by another; a tall boy with dark skin and a wide, malevolent grin.

"Don't be a prick! I was joking, you know I was!"

The blond skidded to a halt and ducked behind a group of second- or third-year girls, who squealed and tried to move out of the way.

"It was your idea, Draco, I heard you myself!"

The girls managed to get away with much squeaking and giggling and Blaise Zabini advanced on the blond with a predatory smirk. He pulled a small bottle filled with a thick red liquid out of his pocket and shook it mockingly.

"You _know_ I was joking!"

Draco Malfoy backed away with frantic eyes, although his voice didn't shake when he tried to deter his companion.

"In fact, Zabini, I specifically remember suggesting that the Weasel would be a good test subject, perhaps you should chase him instead."

The Entrance Hall was beginning to clear as students realised that it would probably be a good idea to get out of the way of this confrontation. The blond, now with his back pressed against the stone wall, looked around the Hall in desperation.

"Zabini, you fucking…!"

The dark-skinned boy stopped, looking hurt.

"Well that's just rude, Draco."

He reached his free hand into his pocket. The blond boy now looked truly panicked.

"Blaise, no, I didn't mean—"

"_Pertrificus Totalus!_"

Draco jammed his eyes shut a second before the spell hit him and he froze in place, his expression murderous.

_Bastard._

"Draco, I know what you're thinking."

_Bloody fucking sadistic bastard._

Zabini stowed his wand back inside his robes and unpopped the cork of the bottle.

"But it's really for your own good."

_Yeah, right. I hate you so much, you know that, right?_

"You'll thank me for it one day, you know."

_Like fuck I will. I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate—_

"Open wide!"

And with that, Zabini prized Draco's mouth open and tipped the contents of the bottle straight down Draco's unresisting throat. Behind his closed eyelids, Draco's eyes were darting in every direction, trying to fight the spell, but to no avail.

"All gone! Well, it was nice talking with you, Draco, old chum. See you in a bit!"

He winked, although of course Draco didn't see it, and sauntered off in the direction of the dungeons, pointing his wand over his shoulder and whispering with anticipation, "_Finite._"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Harry Potter walked absently from the Great Hall in the direction of the large marble staircase leading to the upper floors of Hogwarts Castle. He had just finished his lunch of bacon sandwiches (with lots of ketchup) and was looking forward to an afternoon spent on the Quidditch pitch, enjoying the crisp weather of mid-November in the air with his best friend.

He just needed to nip to Gryffindor Tower to grab his Firebolt (which he still refused to keep in the broomshed with the other brooms; yes, it was a pain to climb eight staircases every time he wanted a quick fly, but he _really_ didn't want the Firebolt to get damaged or stolen), and then he'd be off. A homework-free afternoon was a rare luxury when Hermione Granger was your friend and you were in your seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Harry intended to enjoy every minute of it.

He was already six steps up the staircase when he caught sight of something that shouldn't be there. A student – male, blond and in fifth or sixth year, from what Harry could tell – was crouched against the wall, knees tucked to their chest, arms wrapped around them, head bowed.

His curiosity (and yes, okay, his _saving people thing_) got the better of him and he tentatively called out.

"Er, are you okay?"

The person visibly tensed, but gave no response. Harry climbed back down the stairs and tried again.

"Hello? Are you all right? Do – do you want me to get a teacher or something?"

Still no answer, although whoever it was seemed to be trying to curl themselves into the smallest shape possible.

"I'm not going to hurt you or anything… can you talk?"

"Sweet mother of Merlin, you never give up, do you, Potter?" came the somewhat muffled reply. Harry stared.

"_Malfoy_?! What the – what are you _doing_?"

"I'm having a party, Potter, what does it look like? And you are not invited. Leave. Now."

Harry suddenly realised that his mouth was hanging open and hastily closed it. He was at a total loss. Did he try and get Malfoy to talk? Help him? Hex him while he was down?

In the end, his Gryffindor side won his Slytherin one, and he (somewhat reluctantly) moved his hand away from his left sleeve, where he kept his wand, and walked over to where Malfoy was curled up.

"Listen, Malfoy. Are you – I mean, what – what's going on?"

"Go away, Scarhead!" Malfoy spat, flinching away from Harry's voice. "Or, wait, no, lead me to a really pretty girl… actually, on second thoughts, this is _you_ we're talking about. I'd probably end up standing in front of a Weasley. Or Loony Lovegood. Yeurgh. No, just leave me here. Just walk away and leave me alone. That would be best."

Harry gaped at him. "You're not making any sense, Malfoy."

Malfoy laughed somewhat hysterically into his knees. "No, I suppose I wouldn't be," he mumbled to himself. "And yet, you're still here. Why is this, exactly?"

Harry folded his arms stubbornly and glared at the top of the blond head. "I don't see why I shouldn't be. It's not _your_ Entrance Hall," he said, before belatedly realising how childish that sounded.

Malfoy surprisingly didn't pick up on his juvenile slip. "Believe me, Potter, you don't want to be here almost as much as I don't want you to be here. Just trust me, will you?"

Harry stared. "Now I know there's something wrong with you," he said finally, shaking his head.

He leaned forward yanked hard on Malfoy's arm to try and get him to stand up. And it worked, too; Malfoy half rose and stumbled forward, right into Harry. Malfoy's eyes snapped open and his hands flew out to keep himself from falling flat on his face, but he still ended up clutching the front of Harry's robes.

Harry opened his mouth to either apologise or have a go at him – he hadn't really decided – but ended up not saying anything at all. There was perhaps a second in which the two of them stared at each other, and Harry was baffled at the look on Malfoy's face. He couldn't read it at all. There was shock, definitely. And something that looked like pain. And then there was something else…

But before he could figure out what it was, Malfoy snarled at him, swirled them both around and shoved him roughly against the wall. Harry made a noise of protest – _protest_, not pain or anything – and tried to shove Malfoy back, but Malfoy held him in place with a growl of fierce determination.

"Malfoy, what the—_mmph!_"

Harry was abruptly cut off by Malfoy pressing him roughly into the wall by his shoulders, leaning close and kissing him. _Kissing him_! Wonky-glasses-bashed-noses-mouth-on-mouth _kissing_!

Harry struggled, of course. He struggled harder than he probably would if Malfoy was a Death Eater trying to cut his throat, but Malfoy seemed almost possessed; the grip he had on Harry's hair and shoulder holding him in place was _really_ strong.

Harry tried to bring his knee up to get Malfoy where it really hurt – this was hardly the time for fighting fair, after all. However, even that Malfoy seemed to predict, stamping down hard on Harry's foot before he could get a good aim, and continued trying to get his tongue into Harry's mouth.

Then, Harry heard something that he'd never before been glad to hear:

"… Finnegan, you may be surprised to hear that I don't arrange my detentions around my students' social calendars. You _will_ be in my office at eight o'clock sharp tonight, do I make myself clear? Now _sit down_, you magnificently unintelligent boy, or it's twenty points from Gryffindor."

Harry quickly freed his head from Malfoy's grasp, wincing as a few hairs were pulled out by Malfoy's clutching hand. "Sir! Pro—_ouch, shit! _ Professor Snape! Please, get him off me!" Harry yelped, wincing again as, denied of Harry's mouth, Malfoy bit down hard on his neck.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your language, Potter," Snape drawled, taking in the sight of the two of them and smirking. "And amorous encounters are to be kept away from the school corridors. A further five points."

Harry didn't even have the strength of mind to reflect on how phenomenally unfair this was; Malfoy's hand was valiantly trying to force itself down Harry's trousers and, supposedly heroic and chivalrous or not, he would gladly give up all of Gryffindor's house points to save himself from that fate.

"Professor! _Please_!"

Snape fingered the end of his wand thoughtfully as if considering whether to leave Harry at the mercy of – the apparently now legitimately crazy – Malfoy, but Malfoy helpfully chose that moment to grab the top of Harry's head and shove it backwards into the stone wall so forcefully that Harry's vision was momentarily distorted with tiny white stars.

"_Professor!_"

"Oh, very well, Potter." Snape lazily pointed his wand at the pair. There was a brief flash of light, and when Harry had blinked away the last of the stars, he saw that Malfoy was sprawled on the floor on the opposite side of the hall. He started to get up and head for Harry again, but with another idle flick of Snape's wand, found himself blocked as if by an invisible wall. He let out a moan of frustration.

"Th-thanks, sir," said Harry, staring at Malfoy in horror and feverishly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Care to explain, Potter?"

Harry looked up. "Sir?" Snape pointedly directed his gaze to Malfoy, who was pressed against the invisible barrier, his eyes fixed on Harry. From the way that Malfoy was standing, Harry couldn't help but notice the all-too-obvious bulge in Malfoy's trousers. He gulped and looked away.

"I've no idea," he said honestly. "He was just sort of crouched down over there—" he gestured to the wall, "—and I asked him if he was okay, and he just went mad. I mean, at first, like I said, he was all hunched over, he wouldn't look up, and then when he did, he started… er… well, you saw him, sir."

"Indeed," Snape said curtly. He strode through the barrier that held Draco like it wasn't even there and spoke to him loudly, as if to one who was deaf or stupid. "Mr Malfoy. Did somebody curse you?"

Draco looked like speaking was causing him great pain. Without taking his eyes off Harry, he spat out, "No. Potion. _ Nngh, Potter!_"

Snape glared sharply at Harry. "Did you give him a potion?"

"No I did not!" Harry protested said hotly. "He was like that when I found him, I told you! I was in the Great Hall, you can ask anyone, I—"

Snape ignored his pleas and turned to Malfoy again.

"Mr Malfoy… Draco, look at me."

Malfoy's gaze stayed resolutely on Harry.

"Malfoy!" Snape barked. Malfoy seemed to be trying; he turned his head in Snape's direction, but his eyes remained fixed. Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. Snape, apparently losing patience, jerked Malfoy's chin towards him. Malfoy's stare was broken, and he gasped as if emerging into the air after spending a long time underwater.

"Oh, shit! Professor! Oh crap oh crap oh crap I… _Merlin!_"

"Mr Malfoy," Snape said calmly. "Did Potter – _don't look at him_ – did Potter force you to drink a potion?"

Malfoy looked like it took a phenomenal amount of energy to keep himself from tuning back to Harry. He bent his head and stared at his shoes instead of looking at Snape and addressed his answer to them.

"No, it wasn't him. It was… oh, _Merlin_, I need… I need…"

Snape, rather than berating Malfoy for being rude (as he would have done with Harry, potion or not), seemed to consider this. His cold black eyes swept the floor near the wall. He suddenly marched over and picked up a small bottle – about the size of a Muggle food colouring bottle – that Harry hadn't noticed, and held it up to the light.

"You did not administer this potion to Mr Malfoy, Potter?" he asked, glaring at Harry again.

"No, sir."

"You did not see who gave the potion to Malfoy?"

"No, sir."

"Very well." Snape slid the bottle into an inside pocket of his robes. "I will take Mr Malfoy to my office and attempt to discover just _what_ has occurred this afternoon. _You_, Potter will accompany us. I presume that you are not otherwise occupied?"

Harry, his heart sinking, thought longingly of the lush green grass and brisk winds of the Quidditch pitch. He shook his head glumly.

"No, sir."

"Good." Snape nodded once and flicked his wand at Malfoy, vanishing the invisible barrier. Malfoy's eyes immediately snapped from the floor back to Harry and he flew towards him, a distinctly predatory look on his face, and Harry yelped. He saw Snape swiftly walking away down one of the corridors that led to the dungeons, and, evading Malfoy's grasp, rushed down the passage after his Potions professor.

***

The room was cold and damp and memories of his mind being repeatedly plundered assaulted him as soon as he stepped through the door. He shivered and eyed the few floating dead things in jars that had appeared since he was last here. This was not how he expected to be spending his free afternoon.

On the way from the Entrance Hall, he'd hidden in an alcove and held his breath until Malfoy had run past him with a crazed expression. Now he was in Snape's office, it seemed he'd calmed down somewhat; he was sitting straight-backed in one of the wooden chairs that stood before the desk, resolutely not looking at Harry. Harry went to take the chair next to it, but Snape stopped him.

"Do you really think that sitting within three feet of Malfoy is the wisest course of action right now, Potter?" he said unpleasantly. "I would suggest that you use whatever form of matter residing within your skull that passes for a brain, but I am becoming more and more convinced that your cranium is entirely hollow."

Harry blinked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Sit in the chair by the door, you fool."

Harry sat in the chair by the door, thinking that at least he might be able to make a quick exit if Malfoy went mad again, although Malfoy didn't seem to have moved at all since Harry walked in. Harry looked at him curiously, wondering if Snape had put a Body-Bind on him, but then he noticed that Malfoy's hands were fiercely gripping the seat of his chair. His knuckles were white.

Harry turned his attention to Snape, and watched in silence for what seemed like an eternity as he methodically chopped, stirred and poured over a fairly small (Harry guessed standard size one-and-a-half) cauldron. The afternoon's events kept running over and over through his mind, as much as he'd pay to forget them. Malfoy looking – though Harry hated to say it – uncharacteristically vulnerable, curled around himself, refusing to look up. And when he did…

Wait a moment. He didn't want to open his eyes, because when he did…

A horrible thought occurred to Harry.

"It's not a _love_ potion, is it?" he blurted.

Snape didn't answer; he threw a yellow-coloured powder into the cauldron, which immediately began spurting out jets of purple steam. He leaned into the steam and sniffed, and emerged with a satisfied smile. "No, it's not," he said. Harry let out a sigh of pure relief.

"Oh, good," he said. "Because that would have been _awf—_"

"It's a lust potion."

Harry nearly inhaled his own tongue. "It's a… _what_?!" he choked.

"A lust potion, Potter, are you deaf?"

Harry glanced weakly at Malfoy, who didn't seem all that surprised. Not for the first time, Harry wondered who _did_ give Malfoy the potion.

"Can you fix him?" Harry asked.

Snape let out an irritable sigh. "Potions, Mr Potter, cannot be _fixed_. They may have remedies, or antidotes, but never will they have a _fix_."

Harry didn't see the difference, really, and was about to say so, but Snape continued.

"There is, however, a possible antidote to this particular potion – which was sold under the name _Orexis Votum_, should you for once in your life take an interest in something other than yourself – although due to the complexity of the recipe, it does not take a small amount of time to brew."

Harry had several things to say to that, the first of which that he did _too_ take an interest in something other than himself – he was planning on saving the world, wasn't he? – but he was once again cut off before he could speak.

"How long?" It was the first time Malfoy had spoken since Harry had been in the room, and Harry was shocked at how subdued he sounded. The look Snape gave him was something Harry had never seen before – it was almost… gentle.

"About a month." Malfoy said nothing, only bowed his head. Harry could almost feel the dejection coming off him in waves.

"I'm sorry, Draco. Orexis Votum was banned by the Ministry almost thirty years ago. They don't sell the antidote in apothecaries any more, not even in Knockturn Alley. Frankly, I'm astounded you managed to get hold of the potion itself. If all goes to plan, it should be ready just before Christmas."

"Best present ever," Malfoy said dryly. "Merry Christmas, Draco! You don't want to shag Harry Potter any more. Enjoy!"

Harry stared. He'd realised that he was somehow involved with the whole lust-potion thing, obviously, but hearing it in such blunt terms coming from Draco Malfoy's mouth was just _weird_. And definitely not good weird. More like verging on the worst weird there could possibly be, with a huge pile of _really not good at all_ heaped on top.

"I doubt it's going to be sunshine and daisies for me either, Malfoy," he said.

"You, Potter, have _no right_ to complain about your involvement in this. This is all your fault," Malfoy spat, still facing forwards.

"_My_ fault?!" Harry yelped.

"Yes," Malfoy said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you minded your own _business_ once in a while we wouldn't be here right now."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, you'd still be hunched up on the floor of the Entrance Hall," he said. "Why were you just sitting on the floor, anyway? Were you just planning to stay there for the rest of your life?"

There was a slight pause in which Harry _knew _Malfoy was scowling. "Shut up, Potter. I was… gathering my thoughts."

"Your thoughts, yeah right. Maybe if you _did_ think once in a while, you wouldn't be in this situation," Harry growled, glaring at the back of Malfoy's head.

"And maybe if you weren't so determined to get everybody to love you, _you_ wouldn't be in this situation," Malfoy said mockingly. "It's probably because you never had a mother. Although I doubt even your mother could ever love _you_."

Harry stood up abruptly. His chair made a loud scraping noise against the stone slabs of the office floor. "Malfoy, you just shut up right now or I swear I'll—"

"When you've _quite_ finished this childish bickering!" Snape interrupted, glaring at them both.

Harry fell silent, fuming.

"Thank you. Now, obviously this month _both_ of you are going to be affected by this godforsaken state of affairs. I can guarantee that neither one of you will survive this ordeal unless you cease acting like children and start behaving _responsibly_. You are both of age; you should _not_ need me to tell you this!"

Harry cast a glance at Malfoy, who had his head bowed again, and sat down slowly. He guessed it _was_ a little silly to be bickering with Malfoy at a time like that. Maybe he _should_ try acting responsibly. Snape gave him a rare look of approval.

"Now, lust potions develop feelings of desire in the taker without the affection that a love potion gives, so Malfoy, you will find that you continue to see Potter as the insufferable twit that he is." Snape smirked and Malfoy let out a snort, while Harry tried out his new responsibility by not reacting to the taunt, however much he wanted to hex both Snape and Malfoy with something nasty and hopefully irreversible.

"However," Snape continued, "You _will_ require contact with Potter on an almost daily basis. The research surrounding Orexis Votum is very inexact due to the illegal nature of the potion, so we cannot predict how you will react under its influence."

"Wait," Malfoy put in. "I'll _require contact_ with him? It's not just a mental thing?"

"Technically, yes, the effects are solely mental," Snape said slowly. "However, the influence is so strong that your mind will be convinced that without him, you cannot survive. This is one of the reasons that it was banned by the Ministry; strong lust potions have the power to send the drinker insane, even kill them."

Malfoy muttered something under his breath. Harry caught the words _'going to kill' _and _'bastard'_. Then something occurred to him.

"What exactly do you mean by 'contact'?" he asked warily. "I'm not going to have to, like… _do it_ with him, am I?"

"As delightful as I find your childish language, Potter, I cannot give you a concrete answer," Snape sneered. "Even if proper research were to be carried out, the level of desire induced by the potion would be specific to each individual. Only Draco himself can tell how strong a pull the potion has over him. I assume, though, that copulation will not be necessary."

"You assume?" Draco said weakly. "How can you be sure?"

"I cannot. But, if you learn to control yourself adequately, I am fairly certain that your interactions need not reach that stage."

"Hang on, you still haven't told me what 'contact' means," Harry pointed out. "Can I just hold hands with him or something?"

Snape smirked and Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I'm afraid only Mr Malfoy can answer that question. As such, Potter, you must endeavour to listen to what he says he feels and cooperate to the best of your ability."

Oh great. So now Harry's virtue depended on Malfoy – who had never been denied anything he wanted, ever – somehow learning self-control while under the influence of a so-powerful-it-was-illegal potion that made him want Harry in his bed more than anything else in the whole world.

Sometimes, Harry really hated his life.

"Professor," he said, standing up. "Unless there's anything else, I really think I should go." _Before I decide that killing Malfoy would be the best course of action right now_, he thought.

"Of course, Potter," Snape said, sneering. "I'm sure your lapdogs are wondering where you are."

Draco smirked and looked Harry for the first time since the Entrance Hall. His smirk immediately disappeared and he let out a whine. He started towards Harry but Snape's quickly-erected shield charm held him back.

"_Control yourself_, Draco," he said urgently, all hint of mockery gone. "You're going to be seeing an awful lot of him in the next month and you can't go around repeatedly attacking him. As much as I have tried to convince them otherwise, the Hogwarts staff continue to frown upon damage to their Golden Boy. You need to learn _control_."

Malfoy's hands were clenched into tight fists and Harry didn't think he was imagining them shaking. Malfoy was still staring at him.

"Take a deep breath," Snape said, looking intensely at Malfoy. "Concentrate on your animosity towards him. Far be it for me to encourage enmity between my students, but if you focus on your hostility, you will find it easier to overcome the potions' urgings. _Concentrate, _now…"

Malfoy's eyes remained fixed on Harry for several long moments, while both Snape and Harry held their breath. Then, with a wince and a sharp intake of breath, Malfoy tore his gaze away. He shuddered.

"Sometimes, Professor," he complained, "I really hate my life."

***

Harry emerged from the dungeons with his head still buzzing. What a complete mess. One of these days, he was just going to let the whole world sort their own problems out; trying to help never seemed to work out well for him.

"Harry! Where have you been? I waited down at the pitch for _ages_!" The voice of Ron Weasley floated down from the first floor. Harry looked up. Ron and Hermione were halfway down the marble staircase and walking towards him. Hermione seemed worried; Ron, annoyed.

"I checked in the dorm but your broom was still there… what've you been doing?"

Harry faltered. He didn't really want to tell Ron and Hermione about his new… situation. At least not right now, under the curious gaze of a good portion of the student population of Hogwarts.

"I, er. I had to sort of some Potions stuff. For Snape." He wasn't lying, he told himself. He met the two of them at the bottom of the stairs. "We can still go flying now, though, right?" he asked Ron.

Ron stared at him incredulously. "Mate, it's half six. And it's pitch-black outside. We were just coming down for dinner. If you hadn't turned up by pudding, Hermione was going to send out a search party."

Harry looked around. Dinner time. That would explain the crowded Hall. He'd been in the dungeons a lot longer than he realised.

"'Course," he said weakly. "Dinner. Er, sorry for worrying you, Hermione."

Hermione gave him her best you-and-I-will-be-talking-about-this-later look. "Never mind about that, Harry. I'm just glad that Voldemort hadn't sneaked in and finally got rid of you."

"Yeah," Harry said somewhat feebly, eager to move the conversation on from his unexplained disappearance. "Well, uh, come on then. I'm _starving_."

Harry managed to avoid answering Hermione's hissed questions all night by claiming that he had forgotten to finish his Transfiguration essay (Hermione would never come between someone and their homework, no matter how curious she was) and disappearing up the stairs to the boys' dorms. Once there, though, he was alone with his thoughts, and the knowledge of what the rest of the year would entail hung over him like a heavy fog as he lay face-down on his bed.

He didn't know how he was going to manage, but if everything went according to plan, Malfoy was right; this year, Harry was going to get the best Christmas present he'd ever received.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Draco buried himself under the covers.

_Green eyes, dark with arousal…_

He had not slept at all well. His hair was undoubtedly almost standing up on end from the amount of times he had tossed and turned during the night, and he was uncomfortably sweaty.

_A pair of wind-chapped lips open in a gasp, a whimper escaping them…_

Of course, that wasn't the only reason he was uncomfortable. He groaned and turned onto his side, gripping the pillowcase tightly in his fist and trying desperately to ignore the images that would not _leave – him – alone_.

He tried to do what Snape told him to do, to focus on his hatred for Potter, but when he did all that happened was that he began to imagine Potter angry, which in turn led to him imagining Potter red-faced, which in turn led to him imagining Potter flushed and sated after a long session of what Snape had delicately termed 'copulation'.

He rolled over again and sighed heavily. Last night when he'd finally returned from Snape's office, he'd had a huge fight with Blaise. Not a shouting-hexing-punching fight like he always had with Potter – please, they were _Slytherins_ – but it had been intense. Zabini refused to admit that forcing Draco to drink a potion that could _kill_ him might have been a bad idea, and Draco refused to admit that Blaise wasn't the only one who took jokes too far sometimes (that time he'd completely removed Nott's arm was an _accident_, for Merlin's sake!).

That being said, Draco had had a wonderful time informing Zabini that Snape had walked into the Entrance Hall to find him fiercely pushing another student (for obvious reasons, Draco didn't say _who_) into the wall and snogging the living daylights out of them, and now knew the full story (although Draco also emitted the part where he'd refused to tell Snape who'd started the whole thing in the first place), right down to the brand name of the potion.

And now Zabini was going to be turning people against him for at least a week and Draco didn't know how many more knocks his reputation could take before he was officially a social outcast and he just wanted Potter _so much_.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd gone over it, how the cloying taste of liquid rose petals had threatened to overwhelm him and there was nothing he could've done about it. How when the very moment he'd caught sight of Potter an explosion of something so powerful it was skirting the edge of pain had set itself off in the pit of his stomach. How then it had spread, extending upwards to wrap around his chest and tingling at the ends of his fingers.

How he'd all of a sudden become aware – so incredibly aware – of everything that was Harry James Potter.

He could still feel it now, running through his veins, lurking just beneath the surface of his skin. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; like fire and ice in a constant battle right within every fibre of his being.

It was worse when Potter was around. As soon as Draco caught sight of him, the potion would ignite inside him, urging him _closer_, promising rewards if he could just _touch_.

Even when he wasn't even _looking_ at him it was bad; just by being in the same room as him, the feeling of uncontrollable desire was enough to send him mad. Or at least send him to the headmaster's office if any of the teachers happened to cursorily use Legilimency on him and see just what he wanted to do to their hero.

And perhaps the worst thing was that he still could not _stand_ the thought of liking Potter in any way. Just thinking about the arrogant speccy git in any positive way at all made him sick to his stomach. He didn't _want_ to think Potter attractive. He wanted to be able to hate Potter as much as he'd always done, he wanted to despise the sight of him rather than get turned on.

He wanted Potter bent over a desk and moaning Draco's name, goddamn it.

He once again bemoaned his shitty luck. Over a thousand people in that school, and who'd he get? Mr I'm Too Good For You Smug Hero _Bastard_ Potter.

Draco lay there staring up at the canopy of his bed for a good fifteen minutes, directing his mind to mundane thoughts and trying desperately to get Potter out of his head. It wasn't at all easy; as soon as Draco thought he had a handle on everything, his treacherous mind would throw another memory at him – a simple thing like chasing Potter on a broom was suddenly one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced and he was hard all over again.

After the fifth time getting things under control, only to have them spiralling outwards again, Draco gave up. He sighed in resignation and decided that what he really needed was a long, _cold_ shower.

***

Breakfast was a disaster. Pansy had stormed up to him and demanded to know what was going on between him and Blaise in a shrill voice that caught the attention of every student in a twenty-foot radius. Of course, Draco had refused to tell her, so, after a few shrieked insults, she took to ignoring him as well. Consequently, Draco drank his morning coffee in silence at the very end of the Slytherin table with only Crabbe and Goyle for company. Suffice to say, they were _not_ the best of conversationalists.

But social ostracism he could handle. He often found the mundane chit-chat of mealtimes tedious, anyway, especially in the mornings. No, there was only one event that morning that _really_ ruined Draco's mood: Potter walking into the hall.

Draco's entire body tensed up and his fingers clenched around his cup of coffee so hard he suspected it might soon break, so great was the effort it took not to leap up and attack Potter right there and then in front of the entire school. There was no way he could stop himself staring, though, so in a way it was a decidedly good thing that the rest of the seventh year Slytherins were now paying him no attention; were he sitting in his usual place surrounded by his chattering friends, someone would have immediately noticed his strange behaviour. Crabbe and Goyle on the other hand, hardly sharp-eyed at the best of times, lost all skills of observation as soon as there was food close by.

And _then_ Potter had the audacity to look right at him and blush. Blush! Perhaps he realised just how near Draco was to shooting across the hall and assaulting him, because to his credit, he quickly averted his gaze and took care to sit with his back to the Slytherin table. Or maybe Potter just thought himself too _good_ to look at Draco's face.

Not that it mattered. Potter's back was just as good as his front, if not better – at least this way Draco didn't have to look at his infuriating self-satisfied expression.

And so Draco spent the entirety of breakfast idly contemplating the back of Potter's head, his coffee growing cold, forgotten. By the time the hall began emptying as students and teachers alike left for their first class of the day, Draco could have described in great detail the way Potter's hair curled attractively at the nape of his neck, how it stuck almost straight up at the crown, and how Draco imagined it would look after several hours of intense shagging.

He stumbled through his first two lessons in a daze; his mind was thoroughly occupied alternating between thinking how much he hated Potter and how much he wanted Potter, and had no room for inconsequential nonsense such as the correct way to hold a wand to produce the maximum effectiveness in a Repelling Charm.

It was during morning break that he was snapped out of his reverie. Potter, Weasley and Granger were heading outside to the courtyard, Weasley and Granger bickering as usual; Potter trailing behind.

Draco's control had been tested too much in the last twenty-four hours and he honestly couldn't help himself. Casting a whispered Silencing Charm on Potter and trusting that his own footsteps would be inaudible thanks to the rising volume of the Weasel/Mudblood debate, he followed the trio until caught sight of one of Filch's disused broom cupboards ahead in the corridor. Smirking to himself, Draco sneaked up right behind Potter, grabbed him by the neck of his robes and, ignoring Potter's panicked grasping hands, dragged him through the – really creaky, hopefully Granger and Weasley didn't hear that – door.

Potter, the clumsy fool, tripped over a bucket in the dark of the cupboard, but that was okay. His arms flung out to catch himself, letting go of Draco and giving Draco a perfect opportunity to press himself along the warm length of Potter's body. Draco was pretty sure he let out a low moan at this point, but he didn't care at all; as long as he could stay here, his arms wrapped around Potter's middle and his front plastered to Potter's back, he was happy.

Potter seemed to have gone stiff with shock (Potter… stiff… _ohh_), so Draco, taking advantage of the absence of Potter's flailing limbs, attached his mouth to Potter's neck. Potter even tasted good, damn him. And his smell, oh Merlin. Draco buried his nose in Potter's hair (right in the curl at the back that he'd spent breakfast examining, sweet Merlin it was just as good as he'd imagined) and inhaled deeply. _Mmmmm._

However, Potter's recently increased presence in his life must already have had a detrimental effect on his brain, because in all his musings over where Potter's arms were when he was hitting Draco, Draco had forgotten to worry about something more important now that Potter's arms were still: Potter's wand.

The wand that was now pointed quite steadily at Draco over Potter's shoulder.

But the thing was, Draco couldn't stop. Potter was just so damn _delicious_. It was literally impossible for Draco to stop sucking and nibbling on Potter's _delectable_ neck. Impossible to prise himself apart from the glorious places that his skin touched Potter's. Impossible, that was, until Potter hexed him.

Draco let out a cry and flew backwards, his cheek on fire with pain and his body on fire with need. Bloody – fucking - _Potter_.

"What was that for?" he yelped, clutching his cheek.

"What was that for?!" Potter repeated incredulously, turning to face him. "You attacked me and dragged me into a broom cupboard, that's what that was for!"

Draco thought this was unfair. "It's not _my_ fault!" he said. "I think you'll find we've had this discussion before, Potter. If you weren't such a _busybody_—"

Potter seemed unimpressed. "Look, whatever," he said shortly. "Just stay away from me, okay, Malfoy?" And with that, Potter wrenched open the door, causing Draco to squint against the sudden flood of bright light. When he'd finally gathered his wits about him and righted himself, Potter was gone.

***

_Tuesday_.

Draco leaned heavily against the wall, his heart pounding. After careful observation (Draco refused to say 'stalking') over the course of the day, he'd noticed that Potter always used the same route from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor common room: a passage hidden behind a tapestry on the second floor. On closer inspection, Draco had found that the tapestry actually concealed a narrow staircase which bypassed the third floor entirely and emerged near the vicinity of the library on the fourth floor.

Buzzing with this new knowledge, Draco had left lunch early. He hadn't been hungry, despite the large slices of chocolate gateau that lay temptingly in the middle of the table, and besides, he was getting very impatient for an opportunity to see Potter again. And seeing as Potter was probably very much on his guard after yesterday's spectacle, he didn't really have much hope of ambushing him in the corridors…

A plan had formulated in Draco's mind as he'd absently toyed with his chicken pie, his eyes on the Gryffindor table (and one Gryffindor in particular). Granger had dragged Weasley off somewhere – probably to create bushy-haired ginger kids with outrageous teeth, now there was something the world did not need to see – leaving Potter to finish his lunch in the company of Longbottom.

But, Draco had dredged up from the depths of his memory, Longbottom always went down to the greenhouses straight after lunch, which meant that Potter would be heading back to his common room on his own…

After figuring this out, Draco had immediately left the hall to the curious glances of some of his housemates. Screw them. If they wanted to ask him something, they'd have to start talking to him again, wouldn't they?

After what felt like hours of waiting – but in reality was probably more like five minutes – Draco heard a single pair of footsteps approaching. He held his breath, careful not to make any noise, and braced himself.

Potter, from what Draco could remember, always pulled back the right edge of the tapestry before stepping into the passage and letting it fall backwards. That's what Draco was counting on, hidden as he was in the shadows to the left of the passageway. If he could get Potter as soon as he'd let go of the material, he'd be able to cast a quick Silencing Charm and then nobody in the corridor outside would be able to see or hear Potter's inevitable struggles and come rushing to help their hero.

That's what he hoped, anyway.

The footsteps came to a halt and a beam of light from the corridor lit up the narrow staircase for a moment and Potter – Draco could tell it was him even without looking – stepped inside. The tapestry fell back into place and Draco made his move.

"Silencio!" he whispered under his breath, pointing his wand at the portal, and the dull murmur of the students walking in corridor disappeared completely. Potter's hand flew to his wand and he paused, eyes fixed on the point where Draco was hiding in the darkness.

"What—?" he began, but Draco was on him before he could finish.

It was a brilliant feeling, his skin being next to Potter's again, and he allowed himself to become lost in the pleasure of it, the feel of a warm body – _Potter's_ warm body – so close to his own. He revelled in it, embracing the under-the-skin fizzle of the potion, allowing it to consume him, to take over, to make Potter the centre of his universe.

And Potter, as usual, went and ruined it.

Something small and sharp poked him hard in the ribs, and it took a shamefully long time for Draco to realise that it was Potter's wand.

"No, don't," he whimpered, pressing closer despite the point of the wand, too much under the potion's influence to feel embarrassment. "Potter, please, I need… I…"

There was a flash of light and Draco was thrown backwards, pain exploding in his chest. His back hit the wall and he slid down it, stunned from the blow and the sudden loss of contact with Potter.

Potter looked shocked. Draco suspected he was disgusted at Draco's blatant neediness (which was now starting to catch up with him; his face was slowly burning up. Thank Merlin it was dark).

He stood there for several long moments, just staring at Draco with his mouth open. Now the pain was starting to fade a little, Draco became once again entranced with Potter, the way his lips were parted, oh _Merlin_, and the two of them locked eyes. Draco was just about to get up and reach out to Potter, when Potter broke the connection, mumbled something that could have been "Sorry," and fled up the stairs, leaving Draco alone on the floor.

***

_Wednesday_.

It was just after dinner, more than thirty hours since he'd last touched Potter, and Draco was already starting to crack. Potter had been very careful since their encounter yesterday; he'd stuck firmly to the main corridors where there were always people swarming around and gazing at him in sickening awe, and he always had his wand ready to hex Draco if he got too close – a fact that Draco had learned that morning when he tried to grab Potter on his way to Charms.

So, Draco mused, he couldn't approach Potter himself. But knowing Potter, he wouldn't be able to resist talking to someone else. Especially if they needed _help_.

Quickly sketching out the details of a plan in his mind, Draco scanned the corridors for a likely subject.

A small boy whose hat was so big it covered his eyes and robes that trailed on the ground after him? No, too obvious.

A girl with long black hair sucking on a blood-flavoured lollipop and humming to herself? No, too weird.

The boy with mousy hair and spectacles who was clutching his bag to his shoulder and fishing in his pocket for something while darting watchful glances around himself? Perfect.

Draco walked up to him. "Hey," he said quietly. The boy jumped and span around to face him. Not leaving himself open. Draco approved.

"Do… do I know you?"

"No, and you're not going to," Draco replied. "How would you like earning five Galleons?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Depends what I have to do," he said. Non-committal yet not insulting. Very good. If this boy wasn't a Slytherin, Draco would be surprised.

"Not much. Come here." He dragged the boy to one side of the corridor and briefly outlined his plan, giving no unnecessary details. When he found out that Harry Potter was involved, the boy (who Draco now estimated to be around fourth year, despite his small stature) asked for two more Galleons. Just because he liked him (and maybe because he was getting desperate), Draco agreed.

"He should be along really soon. Just direct him towards the Charms corridor, it'll be empty at this time of night. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded. "Easy. When are you going to pay me?"

Draco smiled and resisted the urge to pat the boy on the head. He got out a drawstring bag where he kept his change and counted out seven Galleons. "Here. They're charmed so that you won't be able to use them if you don't keep your word." A lie, of course, but the boy wasn't to know that. Such a charm was possible, theoretically, even if it was beyond Draco's level of skill (and patience).

"Still prepared to do it?" Draco asked.

The boy took the money and shoved it deep in his bag. "'Course."

"Excellent," Draco said. "I'll be watching from the Charms classroom. Don't mess this up."

Draco walked briskly away, leaving the boy alone in the corridor. Once in the Charms classroom, he closed the door almost all the way, leaving a crack through which he could watch the boy's performance.

All too soon, Potter and his gaggle of supporters came blundering down the corridor. Draco tensed as soon as Potter came into sight, but after three days of observation (not stalking, definitely not stalking), he was getting used to controlling the powerful urge to _claim_ that the potion forced upon him.

He held his breath as his probably-Slytherin apprentice also appeared, walking towards the Gryffindors, but with his head down as if trying to stay unnoticed by the scary seventh-years. Draco was impressed by the boy's acting skills; with body-language like that, he looked young and vulnerable. _Perfect_.

But, hang on, the boy just kept walking. He was going to pass Potter's gang any moment. Wait – yes, he'd just walked straight past them! The little—!

The boy's bag suddenly burst spectacularly, pieces of parchment flying all over the corridor and ink bottles smashing on the floor. "Oh no!" the boy wailed. Potter, now fifteen feet away from the mess, looked back.

"Oh, you little genius," Draco whispered. For in waiting until the group had walked by, the boy – _definitely_ Slytherin – had ensured that most of the Gryffindors carried on walking, too stuck up their own arses to be aware of the unfortunate bag-explosion (although, Draco noted, the Galleons that he'd given the boy were not on the floor with the rest of the bag's contents).

Potter, though. Stupid, idiotic, noble Potter had left the group and, waving away Weasley, had gone to help the pitiful child. Draco pressed his ear to the door to hear the exchange.

"D'you need any help?" Potter asked kindly. There was a pause in which Draco presumed his new favourite student was doing a magnificent job of acting in awe of Famous Harry Potter.

"Um, thank you," he squeaked.

Silence, save for the shuffling of parchment. Then, "Uh, have you seen my Remembrall? It should be here somewhere…"

Another pause.

"Maybe it's rolled down the corridor. I'll check for you, wait here."

Dear sweet Merlin, but Draco owed that kid a lot more than seven Galleons. He'd even known that Potter was too thoughtless and Muggle-brained to even think of a Summoning Charm. And now Potter's footsteps were drawing closer… closer…

Draco wrenched open the classroom door and grabbed Potter, attaching himself to Potter's mouth faster than a Snidget could escape a Kneazle. And, _ohh_, it was good, it was so good. Never mind that Potter was hitting him hard on the shoulder to get him to let go, and never mind that Potter kept turning his head away so Draco had a mouthful of hair more often than not – it was _Potter's_ hair, and that made everything _wonderful_.

After perhaps one more minute of _brilliance_, Potter managed to get free and Draco found himself with a wand pointed at his forehead, but couldn't bring himself to care. Although the potion's desires had nowhere near been satisfied, something deep inside Draco was purring like a contented cat, and somehow that made being near Potter all that more bearable.

Potter didn't move, his wand inches from Draco's temple. They stared at each other, both refusing to back down (even though Potter definitely had the upper hand; Draco's wand was still in his robe pocket), until Potter finally stowed his wand away and, without a word, stalked back to the main corridor.

***

_Thursday._

Draco was running out of ideas. Potter had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth; he seemed to only appear again during Potions (which was a torture session in a whole league of its own) and presumably his other classes, since Draco hadn't heard of any mass-panic that surely would arise if Harry Potter dared to not show up to a lesson.

Draco didn't even bother to wonder how he was doing it. The castle itself would probably bend the laws of magic should Harry Potter desire it, and there was nothing Draco, or anyone else, could do about it.

He'd briefly considered going after Potter sometime during Potions – he could create a diversion easily enough, and if he managed to drag Potter out of the door while the rest of the class was in uproar, nobody would even notice their pet celebrity vanishing for five minutes – and if the subject was taught by any other teacher, he would have probably attempted it. However, Snape was far too observant to let two students go missing for even a second, even if he knew nothing about the damn lust potion, so that was out.

Instead during Potions, he'd had to distract himself from the gnawing ache of Potter-longing by tormenting Potter's friends. He'd levitated powered Belladonna into Granger's potion when she was poring over her textbook so, when tested, her blood-replenishing potion would bring the drinker out in pulsating yellow boils; he'd managed to charm all of Longbottom's hair away bit by bit without him noticing (he'd probably still be bald now if Finnegan hadn't yelled in surprise when he'd caught sight of Longbottom and fallen backwards into Patil's cauldron, smattering them both with her failed attempt at decent potion-making) and he had succeeded in making Weasley and Granger (who were working at the same table) have a spectacular argument over who had used up all the Salamander tails (which Draco had emptied into Lavender Brown's potion five minutes before).

But even such a healthy session of Gryffindor-baiting couldn't keep his mind off Potter.

The rest of Slytherin still wasn't talking to him, but he wasn't especially worried about that. All-house exclusion happened surprisingly frequently; whenever two Slytherins had an argument and one of them had something to offer. In almost all cases the unlucky housemate was reinstated within a week. Draco could have probably already made his way back to the top of the year if he wasn't so distracted with Potter.

Draco sighed and allowed his head to thump against the sixth-floor window he was currently leaning against. He really didn't know what to do. There was nothing he _could_ do, not if Potter was so determined to avoid him. And Snape had said that without regular contact Draco could go _literally insane_. If Draco was honest, he didn't feel too far away from that point.

Draco paused in his musings. Perhaps he was a lot closer to madness than he thought; he could hear footsteps. He looked around. He was in an unused classroom in the part of the school that nobody ever went in. Why on earth would anybody be here?

But, sure enough, the footsteps drew to a halt outside of the classroom and the door slowly creaked open.

A head poked around the door, closely followed by a body. _Such a good body_. Draco's breath left him with a _whoosh_, only to be inhaled again sharply when the newcomer walked right across the room and came to a halt directly before him. His expression was sombre and his wand was firmly in his hand, but there he was, standing right in front of Draco.

"I want to make a deal with you," Potter said.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Harry waited for Malfoy to react but Malfoy just stared stupidly at him. "Huh?"

"A deal, Malfoy," Harry said slowly. "You know, I do something for you and then you do something in return."

"Right, yeah, of course… So what's this deal?" Malfoy asked.

"Well," Harry began. "Potions this morning was a complete fiasco, and I _know_ you had something to do with it so don't try to deny it, and I got thinking that maybe if, uh, I didn't hex you every time you, er, well… you know… and then you could agree to leave everyone else alone and… Malfoy?"

Malfoy's eyes were focused with alarming intensity on Harry's mouth. "Hmm?"

Harry sighed. "Did you listen to anything I just said?"

"Yeah," came the faint reply. "Something… Potions… something else…"

Harry was really starting to feel uncomfortable now. Maybe he should just get it over and done with. He took a deep breath.

"Look, Malfoy, if I let you kiss me, will you pay attention?"

That got Malfoy's eyes snapping upwards. "Really?" he asked, a bit too eagerly.

Harry was regretting this already. "Yeah, I suppose. If it'll get you to—oof!"

Very suddenly, Harry once again had an armful of Malfoy, an experience that was becoming far too familiar, although at least this time he was semi-prepared for it. It was definitely difficult resisting the urge to fight Malfoy off, but Harry managed, standing rigidly still while Malfoy buried his face in his neck.

After around two minutes of standing there in silence being _cuddled_ by Draco Malfoy, Harry decided that was enough. He hesitantly tried to peel Malfoy's arm from around his back.

"No, not yet, please," Malfoy whimpered, and Harry stopped trying to get free, slightly startled at how needy Malfoy sounded and remembering Snape's advice of 'Malfoy knows best'. He felt a sudden surge of guilt for fighting Malfoy off all week.

"Fine, not yet, but when, exactly?" Harry asked. "I don't really want to be standing here all night, Malfoy. We still need to talk."

"So talk," Malfoy murmured.

"I…" Harry started, caught off guard. "You mean like this? Right now?"

Malfoy made a noise that Harry presumed meant 'yes'. Now feeling really very awkward indeed, Harry decided that his life was going to be weird(er than usual) for the next month anyway; he might as well embrace it.

"Okay, I'll keep it brief," he said, valiantly ignoring the feel of Malfoy's moist breath on his neck. "Basically I'm willing to let you, um… do your thing… every day until you get rid of this potion, as long as you stop being an arse to my friends."

Malfoy lifted his head in disbelief. "That's your only condition? That I'm nice to Gryffindors?"

Harry suddenly realised that he was dealing with a Slytherin, here; he'd have to use exact wording to ensure Malfoy didn't find a way around _not_ being a prick.

"No," he said firmly. "Not just Gryffindors. I mean you can't be horrible to _anyone_. Unless, you know, they deserve it. And I mean properly deserve it, not just be Muggle-born or poor or something."

"Hmm, I can live with that," Malfoy said, setting his head back down on Harry's shoulder. "Is that it?"

Harry hesitated. Malfoy sounded way too happy with the arrangement. There had to be something he'd missed out.

"I… uh, I think so."

"So you're giving me free reign to do whatever I want with you? That's very brave of you, Potter," Malfoy said seriously, and Harry had the sudden realisation that letting Malfoy do whatever he wanted to his body would probably be worse than everything he'd had to deal with so far. Up to and including involuntarily resurrecting Voldemort.

"Well," Harry said. "I mean. No… you know, _kinky_ stuff. No pain or anything. Obviously. And if you could just stick to, you know. Kissing. Then that would be very much appreciated. Hell, Malfoy, you heard what Snape said. You're the only one who knows what's going on with this Votum thing. I'm just being dragged along for the flight."

"If this is a flight, Potter, than I am _certainly_ not in charge of the broom," Malfoy said dryly. "Do you seriously think I'd be _hugging_ you if that were the case?"

Harry didn't say anything. Perhaps this _was_ pretty bad on Malfoy, too. It was probably a lot worse for him, Harry reminded himself, to actually feel these things, rather than just witness them. He was just about to apologise for being thoughtless when Malfoy finally pulled away from him.

"Okay," he said. "I accept your terms. Although I don't know how we're going to do this. I would've suggested meeting here, but if you can find me that easily, I'd rather not leave it to chance that somebody else will stumble in on us."

Harry decided not to tell Malfoy about the Marauder's Map just yet. "You're probably right," he said. "But I've got an idea. You know the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor?" Malfoy nodded. "Well, go there tomorrow at eight, and there'll be a door straight opposite. We can go there."

"Hang on a minute…" Malfoy said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Isn't that where you had your little Defence group meetings back in fifth year? Are you _sure_ no one's going to walk in on us?"

"Positive," Harry said. "I'll explain tomorrow. Just meet me there at eight, okay?"

Malfoy scowled but seemed to decide that it was best not to argue, for which Harry was glad. He was almost late for his meeting with Dumbledore.

"I've gotta go now," he said. "Will you be okay 'til tomorrow evening?"

Malfoy smirked, looking a lot more like his usual self. Harry never thought he'd be glad to see Malfoy's pointed face twist into a sneer, but there it was. "Your sudden concern for my well-being is touching, Potter. I'll manage somehow," he said.

"Right," Harry said, not really knowing how to end their little meeting. "Well. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded at Malfoy and headed for the door.

"Potter?" Malfoy asked when Harry was just about to turn the handle. Harry turned around.

"Yeah?"

"You asked me if I'd pay attention if you let me kiss you," Malfoy said casually.

"Yeah…" Harry said warily.

"Well, I haven't kissed you yet. And I paid attention soverywell."

Harry could do nothing but stand and watch as Malfoy approached him.

"Er," Harry said eloquently.

Malfoy smirked again. Harry wasn't so glad to see it this time.

"Don't worry, Potter," Malfoy said, standing a little too close for Harry to be altogether comfortable. "I won't bite."

And with that, he leaned forward and captured Harry's mouth. Harry didn't kiss back, of course, but all the same he felt distinctly ill at ease with Malfoy's lips pressed against his and Malfoy making small gasping sounds that he may or may not have been aware of. It was all Harry could do not to press his mouth into a thin line and shove Malfoy away from him.

He really didn't have the best kissing record, Harry mused, trying not to think about the fact that _Malfoy was kissing him_! First Cho, who was sobbing over her dead boyfriend throughout the whole thing, and now Malfoy, who only liked him because he was under the control of a terrifyingly powerful lust potion. Not that he wanted Malfoy to like him _that way_, lust potion or not, of course. It was just that, for a supposed celebrity, he really wasn't all that popular in the romance department.

Harry sighed and Malfoy apparently took that as a cue to pull away. He looked dazed.

"Wow," he breathed. "This potion may be probably the worst thing to ever happen to me, but it definitely knows what feels good. _Merlin_."

"You enjoyed that, then?" Harry asked tartly, knowing that Dumbledore would be waiting and probably even spying on him right now, but not being able to help himself.

"Oh yeah," Malfoy replied, still a little breathless. "It's like... something inside me, you know? And it comes alive when I touch you." He ran his fingertips over the side of Harry's face and shivered. "It sounds stupid. I certainly _feel_ stupid. Hopefully Snape'll give me a Forgetfulness Potion when this is all over, because I think come Christmas I am never going to want to think about this again."

Harry heartily agreed.

***

Harry's eyes strayed to the clock for the third time in five minutes. Seven-thirty. He should probably get going soon. Probably right now, actually, if he wanted to get the Room ready and make sure that '_I need a room where Malfoy can do stuff to me_' wasn't drastically misunderstood and resulted in a horrifying torture chamber full of whips and chains and… other things.

He shuddered a little and gathered up his Charms stuff. Hermione looked up from her own essay, the beginning of which was trailing right the way across the table. Ron's head was bent at a funny angle to try and read it.

"Are you going somewhere, Harry?" she asked innocently.

"Yep," he said, knowing better than to trust the expression on her face. "Meeting with Dumbledore." He threw his bag over his shoulder.

"Didn't you have one of those yesterday?" Ron asked, straightening his neck and wincing.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to look put-upon. "But he reckons he's found something, wanted me to go back tonight. I dunno what _I_ can do, but you don't argue with Dumbledore, right?"

"You should make a formal complaint," Ron said seriously. "I mean, it's _Friday_."

Harry snorted. "What would I be doing instead? It's not like any of us have a demanding social calendar to keep us occupied." He glanced around the common room where a good nine-tenths of Gryffindor house were sprawled and Ron seemed to concede.

"All right," he said, slumping back down in his seat. "See you later."

"Yep. Bye, Hermione!" Hermione, who had turned back to her essay, waved at him absently.

It took Harry less than five minutes to reach the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but when he arrived, he found an irritable Slytherin waiting for him.

"You're a filthy liar, Potter!" Malfoy spat. "I suppose you think this is funny, do you? Oh yeah, get Malfoy to stand about looking for a room that _doesn't exist_, what a laugh _that_'ll be!"

"Malfoy," Harry said calmly. "Shut up." Ignoring Malfoy's sputters of indignation, Harry closed his eyes and walked past the tapestry three times. After the third turn, a small, unremarkable door popped into existence and Malfoy abruptly stopped talking.

Harry, fiercely regretting that he didn't have time to look around the room before Malfoy saw it, tentatively pushed it open.

It… actually wasn't that bad. It looked nothing like when he had used it for the DA, of course – although the room was spacious enough, there's no way it would have fit thirty or so people all practicing jinxes and curses – but it was certainly nothing like Harry had been fearing.

There were no chains, for which Harry was grateful. In fact, there was nothing at all that you wouldn't find in a perfectly ordinary Muggle living room. There were two sofas – one was a squashy two-seater in a deep red that looked like it might have just been sitting in the Gryffindor common room, the other a sleek leather chaise-longue in a green so dark it was almost black – and a desk against the far wall next to a large window that Harry thought might be overlooking the Quidditch pitch (it was hard to see properly; a Scottish November evening wasn't really the best time for sightseeing).

Malfoy walked up to the window and peered through. "Is that the pitch?" he asked, squinting. "How is that possible? It's all the way on the other side of the school."

Harry grinned at him. "S'called _magic_, Malfoy," he said. "You know, swish and flick and all that."

Malfoy looked at him strangely, as if unsure whether Harry was joking or not. Harry decided to just steamroll through and explain.

"This place is called the Room of Requirement," he said quickly. "It becomes whatever you need it to be. I don't think anyone apart from the DA and some of the teachers – and the house elves – even know it's here, and they won't be able to get in if we don't want them to, anyway."

"But Umbridge was able to get in back in fifth year," Malfoy said bluntly, folding his arms, clearly unimpressed.

"Yeah, but she knew what it was because that Edgecombe girl told her about it," Harry returned. "If you don't tell anyone that you're coming up here to snog me, Malfoy, then they won't be able to find us."

Harry wished he hadn't said that almost as soon as it was out of his mouth. Before he'd even finished the word 'snog', Malfoy's eyes had flown straight to Harry's lips and he was now staring at them with a sort of feverish intensity.

Although he was kind of creeped out by Malfoy's staring, as usual, Harry supposed he'd soon get used to it, so he spread his arms in defeat. "Go on, then," he said wearily, and Malfoy was by his side in less than a moment.

He didn't hug him this time; instead he went straight for Harry's mouth, grasping his chin and leaning forward until their lips touched. Harry wondered if he should feel anything apart from mild discomfort. People talked about their lives changing from a single kiss, right? So even if this was _Malfoy_, should he not be enjoying it more?

Harry contemplated how Malfoy must feel right now as he pulled Harry closer to himself and let out a little moan of appreciation. From Malfoy's description yesterday, the potion didn't sound like such a bad thing. What had he said? Something inside of him that came alive when he touched Harry. If Harry thought about it too much, it was a really disturbing thought.

Despite himself, though, Harry wondered what that would be like. Never in his life had he felt a passion for anything like that. Yeah, he'd liked Cho for a while, but that was more in an '_Oh, she's pretty'_ way than an '_Oh my goodness I want her right now_'. In fact, the thought of Cho in _that_ context actually made him feel a little queasy.

He pulled away from Malfoy's mouth a little.

"Malfoy, have you ever, you know, felt like the potion makes you, but before you took it?" he blurted. And immediately regretted it.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously, looking as scornful as a person could with their cheeks flushed, lips pink and swollen and one hand still tangled in Harry's hair.

"Potter," he said. "I am not here for a friendly chat. We don't like each other. I am fine with that, as I'm sure you are too, so please, _please_ stop making words come out of your mouth."

Harry looked away, his face burning. What had he been thinking? Trying to talk about stuff like that with _Draco bloody Malfoy_. He might as well have gone up to Voldemort and asked him about his sexual history. _Eurgh_.

Harry kept silent until Malfoy was apparently satisfied, finally stopping nibbling on Harry's neck and slowly drawing away.

"Done?" Harry asked shortly. Malfoy nodded, a stupid satisfied expression on his stupid face. "Good. See you tomorrow." He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, planning to spend the rest of the night lying awake in bed and mentally thumping himself for forgetting just who he had made a deal with. But then—

"No, I haven't." Malfoy's voice was small. Harry stopped.

"What?"

"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you."

Harry stared at him. "Really?" Malfoy nodded again, avoiding his eyes. Harry didn't really know what to do with that information. After a short pause in which Harry's brain failed to comprehend if this made him feel better or worse, he simply said, "See you later, Malfoy," and left.

***

Harry's sleep was not as disturbed as he thought it would be; in fact, he didn't dream at all. Or, if he did, he didn't remember it, which was most likely a great mercy in his case.

So, it was in the best mood he'd been in for a while that he showered and dressed and met Ron and Hermione in the common room to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As he should have expected, though, his mood was soon spoiled, although unusually for this past week, it wasn't Malfoy's fault. Ron and Hermione were having their biweekly schoolwork-vs.-fun row, and Harry was once again left to trail behind the two as they bickered.

"… should be more _responsible_, you're nearly eighteen years old!"

"Exactly, I'll have to be responsible for the _rest of my life_, I'm allowed to have a break once in a while!"

"_Once in a while _does not mean _all day, every day_, Ron Weasley, as you well know! You deserve to fail every single NEWT class with the amount of effort you put in!"

"Oh, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? That way you can lord it over me just how much _better_ than me you are, Merlin knows that's your favourite activity."

"Weasley, I realise, what with you living in a barn and everything, that you might not understand how to use doors. The trick is to walk _through_ them, not simply stand in front of them and wait for something to happen."

The three of them turned around to see Draco Malfoy, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle, strolling confidently towards them. He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Well? Not up for letting the rest of the school have breakfast?"

Ron's ears, already a bright red from his argument with Hermione, looked as if they were about to set his hair alight. "Shut up, Malfoy," he growled, going for his wand. "You could've asked nicely. Obviously having rolls of Galleons shoved up your own arse doesn't give you any manners."

Malfoy snorted dismissively. "You're such a Muggle-loving blood traitor that you wouldn't know proper manners if they hit you in the face."

Ron, ignoring his wand, started towards Malfoy with his hands clenched into fists. Harry, his stomach twisting with poorly-controlled fury, grabbed his arm.

"Let it go, Ron, he's not worth it," he said, resisting the urge to punch Malfoy himself – they'd made a _deal_, that lying, cheating bastard. Malfoy's eyes fixed on him suddenly, as if he'd only just noticed that Harry was there.

"That's right, listen to your hero, Weasley," he said, his eyes were still fixed on Harry. Harry glared back. "Merlin knows you'll never make your way in life by yourself."

"The bloody – Harry, _let me go_, just one punch, it'll feel _so good_ – c'mon—"

Ignoring Ron's pleas, Harry gestured to Hermione to help him drag Ron inside the Great Hall, Malfoy's snickers following them in.

"Ooh, that Draco Malfoy," Hermione said once they'd plonked Ron down on the bench and made sure he wasn't about to storm over to the Slytherin table. "I wish someone could just teach him a lesson."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, watching Malfoy through narrowed eyes as he sat down at the end of his table and helped himself to coffee. "Yeah, someone really should."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

It took less than two minutes from Draco's leaving of the Great Hall for Potter to catch up with him.

"Malfoy! Hey! Malfoy!"

Draco slowed, bracing himself for the inevitable self-important Gryffindor rant that was sure to follow. "Yeah?" he said, not turning around.

"Malfoy, will you please—" Potter's hand grabbed his elbow. Draco closed his eyes and ignored the sparks of desire that set themselves off like fireworks in his stomach.

"What do you want, Potter?" he asked tightly.

Potter sputtered indignantly. "What do I—you were a complete bastard to Ron this morning!"

Draco opened his eyes and inclined his head in agreement. "Yes. And?"

"_And_ I want you to apologise!"

Draco snorted. "Not likely," he said, and tried to pull his arm out of Potter's grip.

Potter held on tighter.

"No, listen! You said just _two days_ ago that if I helped you with your—your _situation_ then you'd stop being a prick! Well, I helped you! Now stop being a prick!"

The pain of Potter's fingers digging into his arm was starting to overcome the thrill of having Potter touching him, and Draco found himself able to look Potter in the eye without wanting to jump him (much).

"Yeah? Give me one good reason why I should," he said acidly.

Potter's mouth opened and closed like a particularly stupid goldfish in unfortunate spectacles. "To honour your agreement! To be a better person!"

Draco smirked. "I said a _good_ reason, Potter."

Potter's chin jutted out in a determined sort of expression that suddenly had Draco worried. "You want a good reason?" he asked. "Okay, here." And with that, he dragged Draco towards him by the neck of his robes, and kissed him roughly on the mouth.

It was unlike anything Draco had ever felt. If he thought that kissing Potter was good before, then having Potter willingly kiss _him_ was _fucking fantastic_. His entire being was on fire, his awareness narrowed down to that one point in space where Potter's lips met his. Nothing else could exist beyond this moment, nothing.

And then it was over.

"I await your apology," Potter said coldly, and stalked off down the corridor, leaving Draco slumped and breathless, leaning against the wall for support.

oOo

Resisting Potter shouldn't be too hard, Draco decided, lying on his bed later that day. He'd gone seventeen years without touching Potter, he could manage another month. And just because he was alone in his dormitory at noon on a Saturday while the rest of the school was at lunch, that did _not_ mean he was hiding. He just wasn't hungry.

Ignoring the loud rumble from his stomach, Draco figured that now would be a good time to get on top of his homework and keep his mind busy. He reached under his bed and pulled out his half-finished Charms essay.

Four hours later, and he had eaten his way through all of his chocolate stash, finished his last piece of homework, and was now puzzling over 13 down in the _Prophet _crossword.

"How am I supposed to know this?" he muttered to himself. "Communication… _communication_… Transmission, maybe? Nah, too many letters. Hmm…"

The door to the dormitory suddenly burst open and a girl with short dark hair and a too-short skirt strolled in.

"Panse," Draco asked before she could say anything. "Do you know what a Muggle means of communication could be? Begins with a 't'."

Pansy threw herself down on the end of Draco's bed and considered it. "Erm… talking?"

"Not long enough," Draco said, consulting the newspaper. "Needs to be nine letters."

Pansy thought for a moment. "Are you _sure_ it begins with a 't'?" she asked.

"Well, unless 'Mildly alcoholic beverage thought to be laced with Warming Draught during production' isn't Butterbeer, then yeah."

"Huh," she said. "Then I dunno. You know I'm hopeless at those things, Draco."

Draco made a non-committal noise.

"You weren't at lunch," Pansy said casually. "Is the ignoring thing getting to you? Because people are already starting to get bored of that, Blaise isn't half as funny as you when you're in a good mood."

Draco smirked. If only the _ignoring thing_ was the only thing he had to worry about. "It's not getting to me," he told her. "I just have some stuff going on."

"Yeah, you look really busy," she said flatly. Draco absently flicked her the Vs.

Pansy manoeuvred herself so she was lying on her back, her head lolling over the edge of the bed and her legs halfway up the wall. "Anyway," she continued, "it's really boring without you to bitch about people with. Although I'm still pissed that you won't tell me whatever it is that got Blaise to hate you, by the way. It feels like we haven't gossiped for _ages_, have you heard about the Boot-Goldstein thing? Queenie's sister Astoria says she saw them snogging in the Owlery and that's why there was the whole dramatic thing with them and what's-her-face in the year below…"

Draco stretched his legs out contentedly and allowed Pansy's voice to wash over him. He hadn't realised it until now, but it was astonishing just how much he'd missed her this last week. It was stupid, he knew, but suddenly the whole situation with Potter didn't seem so bad after all.

The two of them stayed like that all afternoon, catching up on trivial matters such as who the latest person to sleep with Queenie was – Zach Smith – and who'd had a haircut that made them look ridiculous – Lisa Turpin. They were only interrupted once, by Theodore, who glanced at them both, saw that Draco and Pansy were getting along and seemed to decide that it was okay to talk to Draco again. He offered a muted "Hey," (and for Theodore that was practically an energetic hug), grabbed his schoolbag and left.

"Are you coming to dinner?" Pansy asked at around 7pm, her head in Draco's lap.

"No," Draco decided, feeling too content to let his mood be spoiled by Potter. "But bring me something, would you? I think it's treacle tart night."

Pansy sighed and dragged herself upwards. "Sometimes, I can't stand you, Draco Malfoy. How you eat nothing but sugar and manage to stay so skinny is beyond me."

Draco grinned. "It's all in the bloodline, baby," he said, resting his head on his hand and watching her straighten out her robe. "I've been telling you for years that Malfoys are superior."

"You and your bloody Malfoys," Pansy grumbled. "All right. I'll see you in a bit. I'm going to drag you down to the common room so you can socialise tonight, so prepare yourself, yeah? Ciao!"

The room seemed a lot quieter without Pansy there. Draco wondered how he'd coped without her. He couldn't imagine a full month with Potter as his only companion.

Shit, Potter.

Draco's thoughts turned to him properly for the first time all afternoon and he felt a distinct and wholly unwelcome tightness in his groin. Why did the bastard have to be so _infuriating_? Why did Draco have to find him so – fucking – _sexy_?

Muttering darkly, Draco drew the curtains around his bed and unenthusiastically intoned the incantation for a privacy charm.

Thirty minutes and a quick shower later, Draco made his way to his favourite armchair in the Slytherin common room for the first time in a week. Obviously neglecting his chair had been a mistake, because a first- or second-year girl was perched neatly on it, feeding treats to a small owl.

"Move," he said sharply, throwing her his best glare, and the girl let out a squeak and fled to the passage leading to the girls' dorms, her owl swooping out behind her.

Pansy and the rest of seventh year returned soon enough, and if anyone was surprised to see him, they didn't show it. Pansy grinned at him and promptly sat on his lap, encouraging the rest of the year to arrange themselves around them both.

The evening passed surprisingly quickly, and soon the common room started emptying as more and more people went to bed. Draco was reluctant to leave, knowing that once he was alone his thoughts would stray to Potter and he'd not manage to get a wink of sleep. He'd just try to keep everyone down here for another few hours, that was all. It had just turned midnight, but that was early for a Saturday. No problem. He could keep the conversation going easily, he was a master at this sort of thing.

"Draco, sweetie, what's the matter with you?" Pansy murmured in his ear. "You're practically cutting me in half."

Draco loosened the arm he had around Pansy's waist and ignored the heat that he was sure was filling his face. "It's nothing," he said, not looking at her. "Just thinking about stuff. You know."

"You had better tell me what's going on with you soon, you stubborn idiot. Especially when it's my uterus that's getting sacrificed when you get a mood on."

"I haven't got a mood on!" he protested into her hair so only she could hear him. "And it's really nothing. It'll have blown past within a month, I swear."

"Get a room!" someone jeered, and Draco immediately smirked and rested his chin on Pansy's shoulder.

"I have a room," he said sweetly. "You're just in it." Pansy giggled and kissed him on the cheek, and the moment was gone.

Keeping the conversation going was more difficult than he thought it would be, especially as he was uncharacteristically ignorant of the past week's happenings, and just over an hour later, he and Pansy were the only two people left in the common room.

"Okay, I think I'm gonna go to bed," she said, pecking him on the lips and stretching like a cat. "See you tomorrow, honey."

Draco refused to let her stand up, crossing his arms around her stomach. "Can't we stay down here for a while?" he whined. "I've _missed_ you."

"Oh, sweetie, I've missed you too! But I need my beauty sleep, and you _know_ that Millicent isn't going to let me have a lie-in tomorrow because she said she's going to ask out Billy Pickford in sixth year and she'll want me to do her hair and make-up. Not that it'll help, bless her."

Draco reluctantly released her, holding on to her hand for as long as he could, but even his clutching fingers couldn't stop her from skipping down the girls' corridor, leaving him alone.

The oppressive silence and flickering green flames of the deserted common room did nothing to make him feel any better and, after a few seconds mentally debating whether or not just to stay down here and not sleep at all, Draco glumly made his way back to his dormitory.

oOo

The night had not been a pleasant one. After three hours of tossing and turning, two wanks and more instances of cursing Potter than anyone would ever be able to count, Draco had finally fallen asleep, only to be woken up four hours later by a far-too-happy Pansy ripping open the curtains around his bed.

"Come on, Draco, wake up! It's breakfast time!" she sang. "I'm not having you miss yet another meal, now come on, up you get!"

Draco groaned. "F'koff, Panse," he mumbled. "S'a Sunday, I wanna sleep."

Pansy tried to wrestle the covers off him. "I have been awake since 6am. That's _six o'clock in the morning_. If I can't sleep, I don't see why you should."

"Because you like me and don't want to see me die a horrible sleep-deprived death," Draco said, desperately clutching his duvet to his chest.

"It's because I like you that I'm doing this, honey. _Come on_!"

"Malfoy, get the fuck up," Goyle grunted from his bed. "Her voice is making my head hurt." There were several rumbles of agreement from various points around the room and Draco gave up.

"Betrayed by my own dorm-mates," he said dramatically, letting the quilt go suddenly and snickering as Pansy stumbled backwards. "I don't know why I don't request a move. All right, I'm getting up. Piss off while I change, would you, Panse?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "If you're not out in ten minutes, I will come in here and hex your hair ginger, don't think I won't."

"That," Draco said sincerely, "would be the worst thing you could ever do to me. Now go, you horrible wench, and get out of my sight." She hit him playfully on the arm and pranced out of the room, making sure to slam the door loudly and causing the residents of the four other beds to grumble expletives.

"Oh, shut up," Draco said lightly, buttoning up his shirt. "At least she's not your best friend."

He allowed Pansy to drag him to the Great Hall, filled with dread at what might happen if he saw Potter. It had been just under a full day since they had last touched, but Draco was sure he wasn't imagining that the level of desire invoked by the potion had increased ever since Potter kissed him; it felt more like three. But he wasn't going to apologise to Weasley, not for anything.

He closed his eyes as they crossed the threshold, and when he felt no rush of feeling that often accompanied merely being in the presence of Potter, he let out a sigh of relief. Maybe just keeping his eyes shut throughout the whole day would solve his problem. He could jinx himself with temporary blindness, say it was a Potions accident. It wouldn't be all that far from the truth.

Pansy tugged on his arm impatiently. "What is your problem? The hall's practically empty, come on."

Not quite daring to hope, Draco tentatively opened his eyes. She was right; this early on a Sunday, only a few people were dotted around the room, even fewer of which Draco recognised. Which meant, of course, that there was no Potter.

His face split into a grin and he almost danced the short distance between the door and the Slytherin table. Pansy noticed and stared at him.

"Merlin, you're so weird," she said, rolling her eyes and flopping down onto a bench. "You better tell me what's with you soon so I can decide if it's worth putting up with you like this or not."

"Stop nagging, Pansy, you're starting to sound like your mother."

Pansy dropped the croissant she was picking at and glared at him. "That was uncalled for," she said darkly.

"I was just joking, Panse," he said, even though he wasn't. "Sweet Merlin, you'd have thought that Millicent would know by now that you're always pissy when you're woken up early."

Pansy mumbled something but Draco had enjoyed having her talking to him again too much to comment on it.

They sat there for some time in a companionable silence, only speaking occasionally ("I still think you should _eat_ something," "I never eat in the mornings, you _know_ that,") and watching the Hall slowly fill up. Finally, when around half of the student population had come and gone, Draco got fed up of the mounting feeling of dread he got whenever the door swung upon. Downing his second cup of coffee, he stood up.

"I'm off, Panse," he said, patting her on the shoulder and jarring her from the sleepy stupor she'd fallen into.

"Wha—?" she said stupidly, her head jerking up. "Oh, right. Where are you going? And please bear in mind that if the words 'my dormitory' come out of your mouth in the next ten seconds I'm going to slap you."

Draco thought it through. It probably wouldn't be prudent to spend another day in bed; his housemates would start to talk. So where could he go that seemed innocuous enough, but where he could be sure he wouldn't run into Potter…?

"The library," he said firmly, trusting that Potter would never go in there by choice. It wasn't like he could _read_. "I want to do some research."

Pansy seemed to accept his story and waved him away, well used to his (admittedly frequent) bursts of curiosity for random subjects. Of course, if he was going to the library anyway, he might as well do some research on a subject that_ wasn't_ picked on a whim…

Ten minutes later and he was heaving an ancient book thicker than the length of his forearm off the highest of the Potions shelves in a dusty corner of the library. It was a lot heavier than he thought, and he staggered under its weight. Quickly dropping it onto a table and looking around him to check that nobody had noticed his stumble, Draco pulled up one of the velvet-cushioned seats, flicked to the index pages and began to search.

Twice during the morning he caught sight of bushy brown hair out of the corner of his eye and his heart leapt into his throat, but thankfully Granger was alone, prowling the shelves and shooting him suspicious looks. Once he'd confirmed that Potter was nowhere near, he ignored her completely, immersing himself back into his studies.

To say he looked at five different books – one of which was from the Restricted Section, to which, being a NEWT-level Potions student, he now had access – he didn't find anything particularly interesting. The only thing he learned was that Orexis Votum itself was invented by an old warlock called Gerald Bennett in 1585 simply because he couldn't get it up and one of the local townsmen had a daughter who wanted to do it with him.

Draco did not appreciate his life being ruined because of a horny sixteenth-century idiot with a cauldron.

It was several hours after lunchtime when he gave up, prompted by the loud growling of his stomach. Not bothering to put the distinctly uninformative books back on their respective shelves, Draco shouldered his bag and, after one last compulsive glance at Granger, left for the Great Hall.

Once there, though, and faced with the few dishes left from lunch, Draco's appetite fled. In fact, he felt distinctly nauseated. Even the smell of the House-Elves' best hot chocolate turned his stomach. Pulling his face, he made a mental note to mention the declining food standards at Hogwarts to the next letter to his father and went in search of Pansy.

He found her consoling a distraught Millicent Bulstrode who was slumped in Draco's chair (_Draco's chair!_ Just see if he was ever leaving the common room again!), presumably after being categorically rejected by Billy Pickford.

Resigning himself to an afternoon of girlie chit-chat, Draco stretched his legs out on the leather divan (which was not as comfortable as his chair, no matter what anyone said), and allowed himself to drift in and out of Potter fantasies for the rest of the day.

oOo

Sunday night was once again one of extreme unrest. If he got any sleep at all, he didn't remember it, although his dreams would probably do nothing more than mirror the thoughts he had while awake – that is, be concerned with one thing and one thing only: Harry Potter.

But it was only thoughts, Draco told himself. And he'd gone without sleep before now; all he needed to do was wait until everyone else was in class, excuse himself to collect a 'forgotten' homework, sneak into the Hospital Wing and nick a few Invigoration Draughts. Easy. He could make it through a month, no problem.

So emboldened was he by his internal monologue that he didn't even protest when Pansy came to drag him to breakfast. He duly showered (only wanking once) and dressed and listened to her chatter on about the hapless fellow whom Millie's affections had shifted onto, not complaining once at the earliness of the hour or absurdity of the Hufflepuff-yellow ribbon she was using as a headband ("It's _ironic_," she'd explained).

It was only when they were out of the dungeons and heading straight towards the Great Hall that Draco hesitated. He'd managed to avoid dinner yesterday by telling Pansy that he'd gone to lunch late (which was true) and had eaten far too much apple crumble (which was not).

Now, however, the encompassing feeling of dread that he had managed to avoid since yesterday had returned in full force, and he suddenly knew with great clarity that he did _not_ want to go to breakfast.

"Panse," he began. "I'm really not hungry. The apple crumble is still weighing me down, I think even the sight of food this morning would make me puke."

Pansy looked distinctly unimpressed. "You have started the day with at least two coffees for as long as I have known you," she said, still dragging him along. "Whatever's bothering you, I can't imagine your mood would be improved by lack of caffeine. You're going to breakfast."

Draco changed tactics. "Actually, you know, I think I left my best quill in the library yesterday, I'll just go and get it and be right back…"

Pansy didn't stop. "That was weak, Draco. You can do better than that."

"Pansy, please." They were nearly at the doors to the hall. "I'll buy you something if you let me go. Georgina Songbird's new perfume, you said you wanted that, right?"

"Su Li got that by owl order and apparently she smells like cat piss. I'd rather not. Come and have some coffee, you crazy blond idiot."

"No, please, I really don't want… oh sweet mother of Merlin…"

Draco stared at the entrance, cold horror creeping over him. Potter was close, was in there right now, he could feel it. Panicked, he tugged as hard as he could and his arm broke free of Pansy's grasp. Relief flooding through him already, he turned to apologise to Pansy, to promise to explain later, when the double doors opened and someone walked out.

A someone with messy black hair, flanked by a ginger and a mudblood.

_Shit._

The first sight of Potter was like a physical blow to his stomach and Draco staggered backwards, having to try hard to keep himself from being sick. How could such an intense feeling be purely psychological? Surely Snape had to have been wrong.

It wasn't just the nausea. A little queasiness he could have handled. No, it was the fact that, despite the crushing urge to regurgitate what little he'd managed to eat in the last three days, he was suddenly and overwhelmingly rock-hard. Every nerve in his body was on full-alert, his skin was the most sensitive it had ever been, and it just served to make him feel worse. Because what his skin was waiting for, what every fibre of his being was waiting for, was Potter's touch. And it wasn't going to come.

Completely ignoring Pansy's irritated "_Draco Malfoy!_"s, Draco turned tail and ran as fast as he could away from the Great Hall, away from the curious faces of his peers, away from _Potter_.

_Potter Potter Potter Potter Potter. _It was like a mantra running through Draco's being. His feet were pounding in time to the rhythm of it: Pot-_ter_, Pot-_ter_, Pot-_ter_. His breath was coming in pants, but in Draco's mind he was doing nothing more than saying '_Harry, Harry, Harry_' over and over and over again.

Draco ran and ran, not noticing for a second where he was, whether halfway up the Astronomy Tower or deep inside the Forbidden Forest he wouldn't for the life of him have been able to say. All that he could think of – all that he fucking _was_ – was Harry Potter.

After far too long – not long enough – he came to a halt, falling to his knees and gasping desperately for breath. His face was wet but he wasn't crying – _couldn't_ be crying – because the hacking noises coming from his throat were nothing like sobs; they were the sound of his very self tearing to pieces. Surely nobody had ever experienced this feeling before. If they had, they couldn't have possibly survived it.

Awareness slowly crept over him and he realised that he was outside of the castle near the lake, thankfully alone. The air was bitingly cold and Draco welcomed it, falling onto his back and letting the breeze calm him.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, staring up at the steel-grey sky and thinking of nothing but Potter. But the back of his robes was soaked through when he finally sat up again and the weight of it nearly pulled him back down. He cast a drying charm on them and glanced around. The sky had started to darken and the grounds were still deserted – probably a consequence of December finally being upon them. He wondered what his housemates were saying about his outburst.

Sighing heavily, he trudged slowly up the slope to the front doors of the castle, praying to any deity that would listen that he didn't run into Potter between there and the Slytherin common room. That he never had to see Potter again.

It wasn't until he'd taken a deep breath and opened the portal to an empty common room that Draco realised the rest of the school would be in lessons. Rather than wait around and face them, Draco went straight to his dormitory, accepting that there was no point of even attempting normalcy while in his current state.

A few minutes – or it may have been a few hours – later, Draco sensed mass movement in the castle that signalled the end of class. And indeed, his peaceful solidarity was soon interrupted by Zabini's jeers – which he ignored – Crabbe and Goyle's monosyllabic enquiries – which he also ignored – and Pansy's shrill questions – which he tried to pay attention to, really he did. But it was difficult to listen to her high-pitched voice when his entire body was screaming so incredibly desperately for a much lower one. One emanating from _perfect lips_…

There was no hope of sleep at all that night, and Draco didn't even try. His stomach had long since stopped telling him that it was hungry and his brain had even longer since given up of thinking of anything but Potter. Instead, he lay there, floating in a haze of lust, reliving moments when he had touched Potter, had kissed him, and imagining that it had gone further, or that he was kissing him right now, and everything was going to be okay.

And alongside his fantasies and distorted memories, one terrible, unthinkable thought kept repeating itself over and over in Draco's mind: he was going to have to apologise to Ron Weasley.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Harry felt awful. Over the weekend he hadn't seen much of Malfoy – although Hermione had said that she'd seen him in the library on Sunday and he'd seemed perfectly normal – and so Harry had pretty much forgotten about the whole potion thing, concentrating on normal things like homework and Quidditch (and also not-so-normal things like secret training with the headmaster in preparation to defeat the darkest wizard who ever existed, but he didn't really like to think about that).

However, the day before, as he was coming out of breakfast, Harry had caught sight of Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson. Malfoy had taken one look at him and fled out of the front doors and no one had apparently seen him since – he hadn't shown up at meals, and even Ernie McMillan had commented during Transfiguration that Malfoy had skived both Arithmancy and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry munched absently on his toast, seriously considering finding Snape and confessing everything. What if Malfoy had run away? What if he'd _died_? Harry shuddered. Malfoy may be a prat, but Harry didn't want to be responsible for his _death_.

Just as his mind was made up to try and catch Snape before first period began, Ron nudged him and nodded towards the doorway. Malfoy, sans cronies, had apparently chosen to come to breakfast today.

He looked like hell: he had bags under his eyes that were nearly matching his robe in colour; his already-sharp features were heavily accented as if he hadn't eaten for days; his normally neatly gelled hair was loose and rumpled and… and he was walking right towards them.

Ron noticed too. "What the hell is he doing?" he said, glaring at Malfoy. "D'you think he's finally lost it?"

"Who's lost what?" Hermione asked vaguely, her nose still buried in _Know Your Nox: 2,000 Common and Uncommon Counterspells. _

"See for yourself," Ron murmured, and Hermione glanced up just in time to see Draco Malfoy come to a halt directly in front of them. Her mouth dropped open.

"Malf—?"

"I'm sorry for insulting you on Saturday, Weasley," Malfoy interrupted in a thinly-controlled voice, his fists clenched by his sides. "And I'm sorry for everything I've ever said about your family or monetary status. And Granger," he turned to Hermione who stared at him in pure shock, "I'm sorry for ever calling you a Mudblood and a Know-It-All. And Longbottom," Neville looked up from his porridge and promptly dropped his spoon, "I'm sorry I called you stupid all those times. And Potter…"

Malfoy's voice cracked. He did not look directly at Harry; instead he stared intently at Neville's porridge. "Can I have a word?"

There was silence in their little section of the Gryffindor table as every eye within a fifteen-foot radius turned to Harry. He looked around helplessly at Hermione's calculating gaze, Ron's open-mouthed shock and Lavender's curious face peeking over Neville's shoulder. Then he looked at Malfoy. He was white and looked as if he was about to faint or throw up (or both) at any moment.

"Yeah, 'course," Harry said, and stood up.

"Harry!" Ron yelped, grabbing the sleeve of his robe. "What are you _doing_? What if it's a trick? He's… he's _Malfoy_!"

"I know who he is, Ron," Harry said, shaking of Ron's hand. "Look, if he starts anything I'll just hex him and leave him there, all right? I'll see you in Transfiguration."

And, ignoring Ron's sputters of indignation, Harry led the way out of the Great Hall into the row of classrooms to the side of the entrance to the school.

Classroom Eleven was the only room that Harry thought wasn't going to be filled with chattering students in the next ten minutes, and he ushered Malfoy in and threw several locking and privacy spells at the door. They wouldn't keep out a teacher, of course, but they'd at least get some warning if someone tried to get in.

Finally, Harry turned to Malfoy, who still refused to look at him.

"Are you… are you okay?" he asked awkwardly.

Malfoy made a funny choking sound. "Being this close to you," he said tightly. "It's… I feel like I'm about to be _sick_ or _die_ or something, and _I hate it_."

"Well," Harry began uncomfortably. "You can… do your thing now, you know. You apologised to Ron, that's all I wanted." He refrained from adding _'that wasn't too hard, was it?'_

Malfoy looked at him sharply as if he'd heard the unspoken thought and immediately gasped, paled further and swayed on his feet. Harry put out a hand to catch him and Malfoy hissed at the contact, flinching away from him and trying to press closer at the same time.

"Malfoy, it's okay. Go on."

Malfoy still looked unsure, so Harry, feeling stupid, grabbed Malfoy's hand and pressed it to his own cheek. Malfoy's eyes widened and he brought up his other hand until he was cupping Harry's face.

"You… I… fuck, Potter." Malfoy's thumbs stroked his cheeks once, twice, before he seemed to give in and pressed shaking lips to Harry's mouth. He let out a long, relieved moan, and then kissed him, hard.

"Shit," Harry vaguely heard being mumbled between heavy gasps and deep groans. "Oh fuck, oh fucking shit, you're so—oh fuck."

Harry stood there, taking the fierce assault. He deserved it, he knew. He shouldn't have put Malfoy through what he did. It wasn't _Malfoy's_ fault that he was under the potion (or maybe it was… Harry still didn't know what had gone on, there), and Harry didn't have the right to blackmail him with it.

Malfoy suddenly stiffened and buried his face in Harry's neck with a low moan. Harry realised what must have just happened and flushed deeply.

The two of them stood like that for a while, Harry standing as still as he could, Malfoy occasionally bringing up a lazy hand to caress various parts of Harry's body, his breathing evening out and playing lightly over the crook of Harry's neck.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked finally.

Malfoy made a contented sound deep in his throat. "Better," he said, idly trailing his finger along Harry's arm.

Quiet again.

"I think first lesson's started."

"Hmm."

"Malfoy, that was me saying 'I think you should stop nuzzling my ear and go to class'," said Harry impatiently.

"I'm not _nuzzling_ you, Potter," Malfoy retorted, giving Harry's earlobe one last nip before straightening. "I'm—"

He swooped in suddenly and captured Harry's mouth in a deep kiss, twisting his hand in Harry's hair and tilting his head backwards.

"—kissing you," he finished, pulling back and smirking. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fine, not nuzzling. But I'm okay to go now, right?" he asked, unwilling to make decisions without consulting Malfoy after seeing how _that_ turned out.

"Yeah, okay," Malfoy said, untangling his fingers from the back of Harry's head. "We – we're still meeting in that Requirement place tonight, right?"

Harry nodded. "I don't see why not. I guess I'll see you then." He shot one last glance at Malfoy – who really did look better already, colour filling his cheeks and his head held up in its old arrogant manner – and left (ten minutes late) for Transfiguration.

Malfoy's voice followed him out of the classroom: "In my defence, he was blocking my way to coffee. For me, that means he deserved to get insulted…"

Harry, despite himself, smiled.

***

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron hissed when Harry slipped quietly into Transfiguration after making a quick detour to the boy's bathroom to straighten himself out. He had been horrified to see that his lips were red and swollen, but a splash of cold water to his face and a quick soothing charm had sorted that out. A treacherous voice in his head had told him that he was going to end up using that particular spell an awful lot over the next month. He ignored it.

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, one eye on McGonagall, who had her back turned to the class. He got out his books, parchment, quill and ink from his bag as quietly as he could and tried to look as if he had been there for just as long as the rest of the class.

"We thought Malfoy'd kidnapped you or something! I was all for getting everyone in Gryffindor together and coming to rescue you, but Hermione stopped me."

Harry was very, very thankful for Hermione's logical mind. "Don't be an idiot, as if Malfoy could do anything to me," he said, peering over at Ron's parchment to see what he'd missed. "He just wanted to talk."

"Talk? Malfoy? About _what_? And what in the name of Merlin's bollocks was up with him this morning?"

"Quidditch," Harry said vaguely, scribbling down the title and the few notes that Ron had written and deliberately ignoring Ron's last question. "Slytherin had booked the pitch at the same time as us, he wanted us to switch."

"You didn't, did you?" Ron asked sharply. "I'm fed up with them walking all over us, Harry, just because they have more money—"

Harry chuckled. Trust Ron to be more bothered about getting one over on Slytherin than the plausibility of Harry's excuse. As if Malfoy would ever try to _negotiate_.

"I did, actually," he said, glancing up to watch the tips of Ron's ears redden with suppressed rage. "But only because I was thinking of swapping to Fridays anyway."

"Well," Ron said. "Well that's okay then."

"Right, seventh years!" McGonagall's voice rang out from the blackboard. "We shall be starting a new topic today; human-to-animal transfiguration. As I'm sure you are all aware, such a spell can be hazardous if performed even _slightly_ incorrectly, so I require your full attention. And thank you for finally joining us, Potter." She looked pointedly at Harry and he smiled up at her innocently. One corner of her stern mouth twitched upwards.

"I hope everyone here is aware of what an Animagus is – if someone does not, I kindly ask them to leave my classroom now; there is no hope for them – however, to recap, I'd like you all to turn to page 217 of your textbooks. That's 217, Longbottom, yes.

"Now, Ministry regulations prevent me from going into too much detail about the process of becoming an Animagus while you are still in school, however there are a few points that I think it would do no harm for me to go over with you. I know you briefly covered the topic in third year, but this lesson will go into far more detail of the theory, opposed to the laws concerning Animagus transformation. I would like you all to read the first three paragraphs on the page in front of you, and sum them up in no more than one hundred and fifty words. Off you go."

Harry, along with the rest of the class, duly opened his copy of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ and began to read.

It was only when three minutes had passed and Harry still hadn't made it past the first line that he realised he was thinking about Malfoy again. Just _who_ had given him that damn potion? And _why_? It wasn't as if Malfoy was without enemies, but Malfoy had refused to tell Snape who it was. Surely, that must mean that they – whoever they were – were close to Malfoy in some way? So that really only narrowed it down to Malfoy's own little gang of Slytherins; Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle and—

"Potter?"

Harry's head snapped up. McGonagall was staring at him expectantly. "Professor?" he asked, as politely as he could.

McGonagall rolled her eyes in a way that clearly said _I _knew _you weren't paying attention_.

"I asked you if you would kindly read out your summarising paragraph," she repeated with a sigh.

"Oh! Erm." Harry looked down at his parchment. He hadn't written a word. "Er," he said, mentally preparing himself to lose fifteen points from Gryffindor. "I, er…"

Ron nudged him and slid his own parchment across the desk. Harry made a mental note to buy Ron a crate full of chocolate frogs next Hogsmeade weekend and picked it up.

"Right, um. _A__n Animagus is witch or wizard who can voluntarily change their physical shape into that of an animal after much training. Very few witches or wizards choose to fellow –_ sorry_ – follow this path as it can take up to ten years to fully complete. Once the Animagus transformation is effective, the witch or wizard must register themselves and their Animagus form (including markings) with the Improper Use of Magic Office in the Ministry of Magic. The witch or wizard attempting the Animagus transformation would not know what animal they will become until the transformation actually happens. The animal form that the witch or wizard will take is determined by their pev—persons—… personality and appearance._"

McGonagall looked torn between amusement and severity. "Good job, Mr Weasley," she said. "Five points to Gryffindor for the paragraph, but five points _from _Gryffindor for Potter's inability to write anything when instructed.

"Now," she said, turning to the rest of the class. "Assuming that everyone else managed to get _something_ down on their parchments, we will continue. Although basic human-to-animal transfiguration is taught at OWL level, one must have a solid knowledge of…"

Harry gave up trying to pay attention and tuned out again, trusting that Hermione would let him copy up her notes (even if he would get a thirty-minute lecture for it). Maybe the reason that Malfoy refused to say who'd given him the potion was that he gave it to _himself_. But why would he do that? Maybe he thought it was something else?

Thoughts such as these swirled around and around Harry's head so quickly he could barely keep up with them, and before he knew it the lesson was over and Hermione was poking him on the shoulder.

"You were late," she said simply.

"Yeah…" Harry agreed, suddenly wary. "Malfoy wanted to talk about Quidditch practices. Gryffindor have switched to Friday."

"Really," said in the tone of someone who didn't believe a word of what he was saying. "And why did he suddenly decide to apologise to us, do you think?"

Harry did his best to look just as baffled as she was. "I dunno," he said. "Maybe he's turned over a new leaf. That was probably what he was doing when he missed Potions; at some weird monk place learning about how to be nice to people."

Hermione cracked a smile at that. "Malfoy the Buddhist… now that, I would pay to see. Come on, Harry, you don't want to be late for two lessons in a row." She led the way out of the door and Harry followed, very much relieved that the interrogation was over. For now.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion: Harry spending most of his time thinking about Malfoy, Hermione spending most of her time looking suspiciously at Harry, Ron spending most of his blissfully unaware of the silent battle of wills going on between his two best friends.

Finally, Harry could take the pressure no more. So, during dinner while Ron was too busy shovelling Shepherd's Pie into his mouth and Hermione was distracted digging through her bag for a Charms essay she may or may not have forgotten to give in, Harry sneaked off, hastily shushing Seamus when he looked up. Seamus seemed to understand and held a finger to his mouth, winking.

Harry, making a quick exit while Hermione was still not paying attention, pondered Seamus' reaction. Why would he wink? Unless… No. Surely not. Is that what people would think, that he was sneaking off to meet a girl? He didn't know whether or not this was a good thing. On the one hand, it'd take the attention away from Malfoy's odd behaviour, but on the other hand, if someone told the Daily Prophet that Harry Potter had a girlfriend, he'd get flooded with letters and probably never have a moment's peace from the interrogations of the curious.

But, on the other hand, only his friends, Dumbledore and Snape knew about the Invisibility Cloak…

His musings carried him all the way to the seventh floor and he quickly walked past Barnabus three times. _I want to see the room I meet Malfoy in… I want to see the room I meet Malfoy in…_

"About time," a voice growled as soon as he pushed the door open and he suddenly found himself bowled backwards by a black-robed, blond-haired Slytherin.

"Let me get in the room first," Harry grumbled, and pushed Malfoy off him. "I think people might find it a bit weird to catch you snogging me in the middle of the corridor."

Malfoy, reluctantly backed into the room, clutching the sleeve of Harry's robes in his fist.

"It's got worse," Malfoy said, eyes wild. "I swear, last week I didn't feel like this even after over a day away from you. But it was just this morning and now I see you and it's just… _Merlin_ it's so bad I can't even… it…" he let out a sigh of frustration. "Please."

Harry nodded wordlessly and Malfoy rushed towards him, not even trying to disguise the relief he felt when their lips touched.

It was some considerable time later when Malfoy apparently felt well enough to stop. He broke the kiss with an irritated sigh. "I am not going to enjoy the rest of this month," he grumbled.

Harry felt like he should pat Malfoy on the back or something. He didn't, of course. But still, he _felt_ like he should. Which was worrying, in itself.

"Come on, Malfoy," he said instead. "It's already been a week. Only twenty or so more days and this'll all be over."

Malfoy appeared to take heart from this; he straightened up with a grin. "You're right," he said. "Bring on 1998."

Harry stood awkwardly for a few minutes, unsure what to do now Malfoy had had his fill. It was a bit weird to come to the Room, stand there while Malfoy snogged him and then leave straight after, but on the other hand, this was _Malfoy_. Lust potion or not, Harry still didn't like him, and he couldn't imagine them settling down for a game of chess or something.

Then, he remembered something. "By the way, if anyone asks, you wanted to talk to me about a Quidditch practice clash this morning," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, you storming the Gryffindor table and demanding to speak to me isn't exactly an everyday thing, so I told everyone that Gryffindor are switching to Fridays."

Malfoy, to say he was the team captain, didn't seem very interested. "Right."

"So I guess you'll have to do at least one practice on a Wednesday because I reckon Hermione suspects something and we're gonna have to be really careful otherwise she'll figure this whole mess out, you know what she's like."

"Hmm."

"And I dunno how you're going to explain away the whole… Malfoy, could you stop staring at my mouth?" Malfoy's eyes slid upwards. And then back down again.

"It's not my fault," he said. "Your mouth is very… distracting."

Self-conscious, Harry inadvertently flicked his tongue out to moisten his suddenly-dry lips. Malfoy's eyes widened and he slowly, as if hypnotised, leaned forwards, his gaze still fixed on Harry's mouth and his own tongue darting out and back in.

Before Harry knew it, Malfoy's mouth was on his, and he was being kissed again. But not as he'd ever been kissed by Malfoy before; instead of forcefully mashing their mouths together, Malfoy was gently running his tongue along the edges of Harry's lips, mimicking Harry's uncomfortable gesture. Malfoy's hand was in his hair again and when Malfoy began kissing him in earnest, Harry was suddenly and momentarily tempted to kiss back, just to know what it felt like. Surely if Malfoy liked it so much… it couldn't hurt…

But then Malfoy stopped and pulled away with an awkward smile. "I'm not going to apologise," he said, voice breathy. "Because this isn't my fault. And also because I like it and you have to do what I say."

Harry, unsure whether or not Malfoy was joking, didn't know what to say to that. Luckily, Malfoy saved him the trouble of responding by bending his head and attaching himself to the place where Harry's neck met his shoulder.

Harry tipped his head back and allowed Malfoy to do what he would. It was all right to do that, he told himself. He was just letting Malfoy have free reign, he wasn't joining in. And it's not like he was getting _turned on_ or anything. Not even a little bit. Nope. Not one tiny, little, infinitesimal…

"Shit, Malfoy, you're going to have to stop that," Harry blurted, a little breathless. Malfoy stopped mapping Harry's neck with his tongue (about time!) and looked up, his face flushed.

"Why?" he asked. Harry noticed just how very pink his lips were after all that kissing (and licking and sucking and biting). "Potter?"

Realising that he couldn't exactly say '_Because I'm starting to get hard and I don't want you to feel my erection_', Harry thought quickly.

"You'll leave a mark," he said after a too-long pause. "And with Hermione on the prowl, it's probably not a good idea to go back with a love bite on my neck, don't you think?" Ohh, nice work, Potter. Making your friends out to be interfering vultures just to hide the fact that you nearly kissed Malfoy. _Shut up, in Hermione's case she's not that far off from that, anyway_.

Malfoy, luckily, didn't seem to notice Harry's internal argument. "A mark…" he said faintly. "Right. I shouldn't… mark you. That – that would be bad. Right." 

Awkwardness descended around them again.

"So, uh," Harry began. "Do you think you can manage? Because it's kind of late and I've still got to do that Potions research."

Malfoy's forehead wrinkled. "What research?"

"The stuff on what happens when you combine aconite and asphodel," Harry replied.

"Oh, I did that ages ago," Malfoy said airily, waving a hand and smirking.

"Yeah, bully for you," Harry grumbled. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

And he left the Room of Requirement without a backward glance, already explaining away the unfortunate timing of his hard-on as simply being the consequence of being a teenage boy and bracing himself for a late night filled with tedious research for his least favourite teacher.

***

Harry had his first dream of Malfoy that night, when he'd finally finished his homework and crawled into bed. Only, in the dream, Harry didn't call him Malfoy; he called him Draco. It seems that Harry's brain moved on from last names once he saw a person (even a dream-version of that person) naked.

***

Wednesday passed with little drama; Harry woke up, had a shower, got dressed and went down to breakfast as normal. He went to lessons. He got sneered at by Snape (which was normal) and stared at by Malfoy (which wasn't _that_ normal but for this month Harry guessed it counted). He had lunch, in which he got stared at by Malfoy some more.

He went to more lessons, this time sans Malfoy, and that went normally. He went to dinner and ate bangers and mash while Ron and Hermione argued. This was a little _too_ normal. He went back to the common room and tried to start the History of Magic essay that was due tomorrow, but got distracted by Seamus sidling up to him and asking who the 'lucky girl' was, which hadn't really happened before and thus wasn't normal.

He escaped Seamus and went to meet Malfoy, and spent the evening telling himself that he was _not_ thinking about Malfoy naked, which was not normal at all. He spent what he considered far too long in the Room of Requirement and at 11pm he snuck back to the Gryffindor common room and groggily copied notes verbatim from his History of Magic textbook and hoped that Professor Binns wouldn't notice.

He finally flopped down on his bed at a very not-normal time of three o'clock in the morning and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was only four hours later that Ron was thumping him on the shoulder to wake him because he'd slept through his alarm. Seriously considering just going back to sleep, Harry reluctantly got up and headed to the bathroom.

The only thing that kept him going that morning was the thought that he had Thursday afternoons off ever since he'd dropped Divination and Care of Magical Creatures after fifth year, opting to focus only on the subjects that would help him when he applied for an Auror position. So, he blearily sat through Binns telling the class about some people who did something once (even though the Ministry didn't officially look for a History of Magic NEWT, Hermione assured him that it would help his case) and tried so very hard not to fall asleep.

The rest of the morning was spent in a half-awake daze and by the time lunch rolled around Harry was very nearly falling asleep into his sandwiches. He ate as much as he could and told Ron that he was going to the library, before heading straight for the Room of Requirement.

Harry closed the door behind him quietly. It was only two o' clock; he had at least four hours before anyone would be looking for him, and around six hours before Malfoy would be coming to the Room. He let out a happy sigh.

The room looked the same as it always did, except for the handsome four-poster bed that had appeared along the left wall, looking comfortable and inviting. Harry offered up his thanks and flopped down on it bonelessly.

He was _so __exhausted_. Apparently he didn't function well on only four hours of sleep a night. Everything seemed to be against him right now; he was tired of coming up with excuses to evade the company of his friends, his teachers seemed to think that homework was the most important thing in the universe, Dumbledore was still expecting him to look up advanced Defence spells in his free time in order to have the power to defeat Voldemort when the time came and he _still_ had to organise Quidditch practices to prepare for their upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

Not to mention that Snape had taken to picking on him worse than usual, as if he blamed Harry personally for Malfoy's mess. Harry was sure that he'd only avoided detentions so far because Snape somehow knew that he met up with Malfoy in the evenings.

Harry sighed again and let his eyes drift closed. It was hopeless thinking that Snape would stop being a complete prick just because Harry had the decency to help out his favourite pupil. He'd probably be a lot worse if Harry _wasn't_ helping Malfoy. Harry supposed he should be thankful. He should be, but he wasn't. He couldn't muster up the strength.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up with some difficulty. He wasn't going to get anywhere mulling over the motivations of Slytherins. He'd be much better off just sleeping. Yawning, he pulled off his glasses, set them on the floor, and shucked off his jeans. He set a handy time-keeping spell that Hermione'd taught him that would wake him up in four hours time, and gratefully climbed underneath the covers. The bed was soft and the pillows were just the right height and Harry's eyes drifted closed again of their own accord. At that moment, Harry had never been more grateful for the Room of Requirement.


	7. Chapter 6

Note: there will be (as a lot of you have guessed) sexytimes happening in this chapter. So, you know, if you're not a fan of the boylove, you might want to skim certain parts.

**Chapter 6**

"Draco, I don't get this. It just doesn't add up!" Pansy whined petulantly.

Draco lifted his head from his hands and glanced at her. "You don't get what, Pansy dearest?"

"These fucking equations. I must've gone wrong _somewhere_, but I can't see where! Fuck!" She kicked the leg of the table, making her ink bottle wobble precariously, and Draco watched her in amusement.

"Pansy, you shock me," he said solemnly. "Language like that is unbefitting of a proper lady such as yourself." Their eyes met across the dark oak desk and Pansy snorted. Draco grinned at her, and held out a hand for her scribbled notes from their last Arithmancy lesson. They were handed over with a thankful smile.

"I only took Arithmancy because of you, Draco," Pansy said matter-of-factly, brushing her hair back with a careless hand and adjusting her robe. "You should have warned me it involved _numbers._"

Draco looked up from the parchment and flashed her a smirk. "I think, if I remember correctly, Pansy darling, I warned you most explicitly that Arithmancy involved numbers. If my memory is to be believed, you said that – what was it again? – you wanted to take the same subjects as me because every hour spent away from me was an hour of darkness, and you would brave several chimeras and a Quintaped if it meant that you could be close to me. I _think_ that was what you said, wasn't it, dearest?"

Pansy glared at him. "Shut it. I was going through a phase."

"Hmm," Draco agreed, absently scribbling over a hugely incorrect calculation. "A phase that entailed stalking me every hour of every day and blackmailing Goyle with fudge cake to try and get into my bed. Wasn't the most respectable stage of your life, was it, Panse?" He ducked her moose-antler hex without even looking up.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said airily, tucking her wand back up her shirt.

Draco shot her a look.

"All right, yes I do," she conceded. "It nearly worked, too. If only I hadn't gone to the wrong bed and nearly jumped on Zabini discovering how to wank. You would have been unable to resist my charms."

Draco bit back a grin. "You were twelve, Panse," he said. "At that point, Crabbe had bigger tits than you."

Pansy pouted and pushed her chest forward. "What about now?" she simpered, wiggling invitingly.

Draco had never been attracted to Pansy. Perhaps it was the fact that he had known her when she had the face of an unattractive dog and the personality of a flobberworm, but, despite their casual flirting, he had not once thought of her as anything other than a friend.

"By this point, I've had to repress my sexual urges for you for far too long," he answered, letting his eyes linger appreciatively lest she get offended (and she probably would) before looking back at her face. "I'm sworn to a life of celibacy now, I'm afraid."

Pansy snickered but at least stopped wiggling. "That's a load of bollocks if ever I heard it. I heard from Queenie that some Ravenclaw sixth-year caught you doing the nasty with Terry Boot last week."

Terry Boot? Well, he had the right hair colour, Draco supposed. He raised an eyebrow disdainfully and looked back down at Pansy's notes. "As if I'd let that filthy mudblood come within a ten-foot radius of me," he sneered. Pansy seemed satisfied by that answer and absently began practicing her signature on a scrap of parchment.

"Oh good. 'Cause, you know, Millie told me that Goldstein and him got together at least a year ago, even if they only told everyone the other day. I mean, if he was cheating on you with him, I'd have to hex him. I don't know what you'd see in him, though, really, so I can't say I'm surprised Queenie was lying…"

Draco tuned her out, having perfected the art of making the appropriate "hmm" and "ah" noises when women were talking by the age of eleven. Had the Ravenclaw seen him with Potter and just not recognised the boy hero, or was somebody making up stories about him? It was worrying, either way. The last thing he needed right now was for people to start paying close attention to his life.

"All right," he said, handing Pansy back her homework and standing up. "I reckon I'm going to go to the library, get a start on that Defence thing."

She pulled a face. "That's not due for a fortnight."

"You're right," Draco deadpanned. "I'm lying to you so I can go off and snog Terry Boot while Goldstein watches and masturbates vigorously."

"That makes more sense," Pansy said, nodding gravely. "Make sure you use a contraception charm, you don't want Boot to get pregnant."

"Will do." He blew her a kiss. "See you later."

"I want pictures!" she called as he stepped through the exit. He grinned.

Obviously he wasn't going to go and snog Terry Boot. Nor was he going to go to the library. But – and he'd never admit this to anyone – he'd been going to the Room of Requirement and just sitting on one of the sofas (he'd _definitely_ never admit which one) and soaking up the feel of Potter since Tuesday. Even such a small thing was just enough to keep him going for a day, to stop him from grabbing Potter, dragging him into the nearest broom cupboard and snogging the tits off him.

But when he got to the seventh floor, he found that someone was already in their room.

Of course it was Potter. It was always Potter. But at least this time, Potter was asleep, so Draco didn't have to put up with his irritating whinging. He was asleep, and apparently dreaming…

From his place at the door, Draco could hear that Potter was making little whimpering noises. Was he having a nightmare, the poor, tortured boy? Draco idly made his way towards the bed, wondering what would be the best way to wake the Gryffindor from his oh-so-troubled slumber. So far it was a tie between a rough shove and an even rougher snog.

A tie, that was, until Potter let out a moan that was most definitely not the product of a terrifying vision of Voldemort; or if it was, Potter had some definite Dark Lord issues.

Draco froze, his eyes fixed on the bed. The 'snog' option was infinitely more likely now, but he didn't really want to disturb Potter in the middle of a wet dream. That would just be rude. Not to mention the wank material he'd get by staying put. To prove his point, Potter moaned again – louder this time – and threw his head from side to side. A delicious pink flush was working its way onto Potter's cheeks and _fucking Merlin_ Draco was so hard.

And then amidst the muffled moans and gasps, Draco distinctly heard a mumbled"Mm... Draco..."

He was across the room with Potter's dick in his mouth before anyone would have been able to say "Orexis Votum."

Potter made a desperate sort of whimpering noise as Draco's lips closed around the head of his cock, and some tiny part of Draco's brain thanked whatever gods would listen for his amazingly good luck. He looked up, trying to get a view of Potter's face, and started when he realised that half-lidded green eyes were gazing down at him. His own cock twitched violently in his trousers.

He dragged his mouth up slowly, praying that he wouldn't mess this up – he had no idea what he was doing, just that it felt _amazing_. Potter let out a breathy "Mal-_foy_!" and Draco felt a hand rest on the back of his head; he nearly came right there and then.

Draco was finding it increasingly difficult to remember to breathe. Just the thought of doing this, of kneeling uncomfortably in between Potter's legs, of Potter's hand gently pushing his head down, Potter's eyes glazed over and looking _right at him_, Potter's scent, Potter's _taste_. It was nearly too much, and Draco couldn't contain a moan.

Harry moaned in response, and twitched his hips upwards. Draco took that as encouragement, and slid his mouth down the shaft until it poked the back of his throat. He still wanted _more_, though, and pushed himself down further, determinedly fighting his gag reflex by swallowing convulsively, because breathing was far inferior to fitting as much of Potter's cock in his mouth as he could, right fucking down, until Potter's cock was down his throat and Potter's pubic hair tickled his nose. _Potter's fucking pubic hair. _

The tingling ever-present undercurrent that came from that blasted potion was on the surface of his skin, heightening every sense and causing Draco to be _fuck so close. _Potter was close, too, if the barely-contained twitching of his hips and the not-at-all-contained whimpers were any indication. Draco thrust his mouth down again and swallowed hard, and Potter stiffened, spilling his seed down Draco's throat with a delicious hoarse cry. Draco's orgasm hit seconds after Potter's did, and he came spectacularly in his trousers without even so much as touching his cock.

He didn't remove his mouth from Potter's softening erection, though. He didn't _ever_ want to move. He wanted to stay right there, gently sucking the head of Harry Potter's dick forever.

Apparently Potter himself had different ideas, because the hand on the back of Draco's head tugged at his hair, and Draco was really, honestly powerless to stop himself doing whatever Potter wanted him to. He followed the direction of the pull, bracing himself for another week without Potter and telling himself that it was worth it.

But once he was hovering over Potter, their faces mere inches apart, Draco didn't think that Potter was going to desert him. In fact, he was pretty sure that Potter wasn't even properly awake. His eyes were open, yes, but he was wearing an expression of perfect contentment that Draco had never seen before.

Potter blinked slowly. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi yourself," Draco whispered back, not wanting to jolt Potter from whatever glorious daze he was in.

Potter smiled, his hand still fiddling with the hair near the nape of Draco's neck. "You shouldn't gel this back, you know," Potter said sleepily. "You'd look really good with it natural."

Draco stared. Potter's smile widened and he pulled Draco towards him until Draco could _feel_ that smile against his mouth and Potter was kissing him – really kissing him – and it was brilliant, it was wonderful, it was _still going_ and Potter wasn't going to stop, wasn't going to leave him, was going to stay here forever kissing Draco oh please never let him stop this was _so good_.

But Potter did stop. Draco's heard thumped hard in his chest, terrified that Potter was going to throw him out, that this had all been a trick. Reluctantly, Draco opened his eyes to see Potter's expression…

He had gone back to sleep.

Draco let out a quiet, relieved laugh. Potter had _gone back to sleep_! His hand was still stubbornly clutching at Draco's hair, but there was no mistaking it. His eyes had drifted closed and his mouth was slightly open and he was breathing evenly and Draco was uncomfortably aware that he'd come in his pants for the second time in a week and everything was_ just fucking perfect_.

Draco gently removed Potter's fingers, marvelling at how thoroughly _peaceful_ Potter looked when he was asleep. He had never really noticed that Potter was usually frowning, but it was glaringly obvious now that his face was relaxed.

It almost made Draco want to vow to make him look like that while he was awake.

***

Draco strolled into the common room and spotted Pansy, right where he'd left her just an hour ago.

"Hello, beautiful!" he called out from across the room. Pansy looked up in shock.

"I thought you were going to the library," she said weakly, staring at him.

"I did," Draco lied. "And then I came back. That place is _boring_." He settled himself in the chair opposite her and stretched his legs out onto her lap. "How're you getting on with Arithmancy?"

"It's a load of bollocks, of course. But, Merlin, Draco, what the hell has got into you?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said airily, waving a hand. "I'm perfectly fine. Wonderful, in fact."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Pansy sputtered. "You spend all weekend moping about and now you're coming back from the library practically _buzzing_! I'll be honest with you, I'm getting suspicious. I might start having you stalked."

Draco looked at her seriously. "That would be a bad idea. Do not do that." Pansy stared some more.

"You've gone mad," she said faintly. "I knew it would happen one day, what with all the shit you put on your hair. It seems this day has finally arrived."

Draco lifted a hand to his slicked-back hair. "Yeah…" he said absently, his mind filled with images of Potter, smiling up at him. Potter _kissing_ him. He could still feel the hand on the back of his head. "You know, I think I'm going to have a shower." And, without another word, he stood up and headed for the boys' dorms, leaving Pansy gaping at his retreating back.

His shower was very enjoyable. What with the recent memory of having Potter's dick _inside him_, the deserted bathroom and the perfect temperature of the Hogwarts' water, he managed to get in another _fabulous_ orgasm without interruption.

When he finally emerged, clean and sated, he quickly dressed and automatically reached out a hand for his hair potion. He was halfway to applying it when he stopped himself. Potter had said that he would look _good_ with his hair natural. And, loath as he was to do anything that Potter told him to, he had to admit he was a _little_ curious…

He resolutely set the bottle back on the shelf and aimed a drying charm at his head instead, reaching for a comb with his other hand.

"Oooh, fancy!" his mirror said cheerily when Draco stared into it. He looked… different. Not bad, per se, but definitely different.

Hearing a distinctly female voice calling his name from the dorm, he shouted out. "In here, Panse!"

She opened the door and peeked in, her nose wrinkled. "I do not enjoy bathrooms, Draco, you should know that by—Merlin, what happened to _you_?"

"It's bad isn't it? I knew it was a stupid idea. Pass me my potion, would you?"

"Mother of Merlin, no!" Pansy said, her voice shocked. "It makes you look _hot_! What brought this on?"

Draco turned back to the mirror and tilted his head. "Hot? Hm." Hot he could live with. He would prefer breathtakingly handsome, of course, but one couldn't have everything. Unless you were Potter.

Not that Potter was breathtakingly handsome, Draco hurried to remind himself, determined that this potion was not going to get him to complement Potter. Not a chance. But he did have a certain… dangerous charm. An element of _je ne sais quoi_. A little something that made you want to run your hand through his just-shagged hair and snog the living daylights out of him.

Or maybe that was just Draco.

"It'll do," he decided, and chivvied Pansy into the dorm.

"It'll _do_?" Pansy squeaked. "Draco, honey, if I had only just met you, I would already be planning to get into your pants. Sweet Merlin."

Draco scoffed. "Oh, come on. It can't make that much of a difference."

"It makes you look less of a pointy git," Pansy said bluntly. "Softens the edges. Or something like that. We should get Queenie in here, she'll be able to tell you."

"I am not having Daphne Greengrass in my bedroom," Draco replied, shuddering. "Once she's in here, she'll never leave."

Pansy waved a careless hand. "Whatever," she said impatiently. "Do you have a girlfriend? Is that what all this is about? Is this for her? Because if she's whipped you this well already, Draco, I want to meet her. And possibly pick up some tips."

Draco chuckled and caught hold of her hand. "I promise, I don't have a girlfriend," he assured her. "You know you're the only woman for me, Pansy Parkinson."

She didn't laugh. "Then why…?"

"I just fancied a change," Draco lied. "I only gel it to keep it out of my way. It's annoying me already, having it down. I'll probably be back to normal by tomorrow."

"Don't you dare," Pansy said, lifting her hand out of Draco's grasp and reaching upwards. She ran her fingers through the newly-freed strands and their eyes met. Draco looked down on her pretty face (which she refused to admit had been altered by spells but Draco had his suspicions) and felt no stirring of attraction at all.

"Panse…" he began gently.

She blinked and snatched her hand away. "You are _such_ a bastard!" she exclaimed, hitting him on the arm. "How come you have hair like _that_ without even trying? Merlin, add that to your sugar obsession and, quite honestly, I despise you."

He grinned. "I hate you too, you daft bitch," he returned amicably. She smiled, and everything was back to normal.

"I only came up here because you'd been missing for about two hours. I was wondering if you'd finally given into Moaning Myrtle's charms and had offed yourself to be with her for all eternity." She gasped and pointed an accusing finger. "I bet she's the girlfriend!"

"You have seen through my ruse," Draco said forlornly. "I can resist her translucent allure no more. We're going to move in together. Share a U-Bend and everything."

"I promise to never pee on your heads," Pansy returned solemnly.

***

Unable to wait any longer, Draco soon made his excuses to Pansy (and Crabbe and Goyle who waylaid him on his way out of the common room) and headed straight up to the seventh floor.

Potter was still there, sitting at the desk near the window and hunching over a roll of parchment.

"Nice bed," Draco said to announce himself, referring to the dark oak four-poster that was still standing majestically against the wall. Potter looked around and blushed attractively.

"Yeah," he said uncomfortably. "I asked for one so I could, uh, take a nap before, but now it won't leave. I dunno what's wrong with it."

Draco suspected he knew exactly what was wrong – quite a large portion of his thoughts concerning Potter and this room now definitely involved that bed – but he said nothing. He'd let Potter drown in his own innocence. Perish the thought that the Golden Boy ever found out about _sex_.

Draco's brain reminded him that, if this afternoon was anything to go by, Potter definitely knew about sex. The memory played itself on the inside of Draco's eyelids for what had to have been the forty-seventh time and, despite having had his third orgasm of the day not two hours ago, Draco felt himself getting hard.

"… different."

Draco shook his head slightly to rid himself of… certain mental images. "What?"

"You look different," Potter repeated. "Did you do something to your hair?"

Draco's hand flew up self-consciously to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Yeah," he said, watching Potter's face closely. "Do you like it?"

Potter, Merlin bless him, blushed again. Draco pretended not to notice. "It's… okay," Potter said. "Definitely different."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Draco replied, sighing. He flopped down on the dark leather sofa. "Annoying as piss, though. I dunno how you cope with a fringe, having your hair in your eyes all the time."

Potter sat down next to him and Draco closed his eyes a little, letting the proximity of Potter wash over him in a pleasurable haze. "The fringe comes in useful, though," he vaguely heard Potter say. "You know, with the scar and all."

Ah, finally we get to the Potter sob story, Draco thought, feeling a familiar pang of annoyance hack through the potion's under-the-skin tingling. He was surprised that they'd gone a week without Potter telling him about his life and how _sad_ it was to be a teenage celebrity. Poor Potter, got away with practically anything at school and even with the Ministry of Magic itself, but _of course_ he only wanted to be like everyone else.

What a load of bollocks.

In the end, Draco said nothing, too wary of Potter deciding that Draco should suffer for his opinions. And Potter was apparently against Dark Lords. He'd make a pretty good one, himself.

"You know, Seamus thinks I've got a girlfriend," Potter said casually after a while.

Draco's heart let out a single, painful thump. "You don't, do you?" he asked sharply.

"Of course not," Potter replied, and Draco breathed easily again. Stupid potion, making him jealous of Potter's imaginary girlfriend. "But I was thinking," Potter continued, "that I could _pretend_ to have one."

"Okay…" Draco said slowly. "No offence, Potter, but don't you think that's a little sad?"

Potter looked confused for a moment, but then he sniggered. "No, not like that. I mean 'cause it'll keep the attention away from you. Everyone'll be going crazy wondering who it is, so they won't worry about whatever you're doing. And I'm used to avoiding people, so they won't find out about us that way. It'll probably even be in the paper."

Draco snorted. This was really too much. "You're such a big-headed prick, Potter," he said matter-of-factly, flicking his head to get rid of a bit of hair that was in his eyes.

"What?" Potter said indignantly. "You saw the stories they did about Hermione and me. In fact, you played a crucial role in the writing of the stories, I think. I'm not exaggerating, that's what will happen."

Draco smiled at the memory. That was one of his proudest moments. "Nah, now Rita Skeeter's gone into retirement, no one will care about your supposed love life, Potter, you mark my words. Give it a few years, nobody will even remember who you are."

"Believe me when I tell you, Malfoy, that I honestly cannot _wait_ for that day to come," Potter said seriously, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead, then, get a girlfriend. Maybe you should make her a Slytherin, give everyone a real scandal. Unless people assume it's Queenie, in which case nobody will care."

"Queenie?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Draco explained. "She's a real whore. We think she's trying to sleep with every male in the school who's hit puberty and who can still get it up. And a few of the females, actually, if Millicent Bulstrode is to be believed."

"Wait, who can still get it up?" Potter asked. "You mean she's going for _teachers_?"

"Oh yeah. Remember that centaur they got in to fill Trelawney's spot in fifth year?"

Potter's eyes widened. "No! Firenze wouldn't! He's a decent bloke."

Draco grinned. "And Queenie's a Slytherin. If she says she's done it, she probably has."

Draco watched Potter's face in amusement and wondered just how sheltered a life Gryffindors must lead. Granted, Draco wasn't the most experienced of people, but at least he _knew_ stuff. Potter seemed entirely ignorant.

"I'm surprised at you," Potter said, interrupting Draco's thoughts.

"You are?"

"Yeah, you've been here ten minutes now and you haven't so much as touched me."

Draco started. It was true. He supposed that, having been somewhat intimate with Potter within the last few hours, the potion was happy to let him be close to Potter without going crazy. But seeing as Potter showed no signs of remembering what had happened that afternoon, Draco decided that he didn't want to be the person to tell him.

He thought quickly. "I'm testing myself," he said, shrugging. "I figure that if you pull a disappearing act again, I want to be able to survive longer than a week. Maybe if I build up a resistance to you or something."

Potter's customary frown (which Draco could now easily spot) deepened. "I'm not going to do that again," he said earnestly. "It was really stupid. Especially after what Snape told us. I – I'm sorry I made you go through that."

Draco's mouth fell open. Did… did Potter just _apologise_ to _him_, a lowly Slytherin?

Potter noticed Draco's shocked expression. "Yeah, yeah, shut up." He picked at the hem of his shirt. "But after seeing how you were… I mean, how was I supposed to know how bad it would get? And you _did_ say that you'd stop… I mean…"

Draco decided to make Potter stop talking. He leaned over and closed the distance between them in one swift movement. And it was good, _of course_ it was good, under normal circumstances it would be brilliant, but this wasn't normal and there was one problem; he now knew how Potter kissed, and this… this wasn't it. Something was _missing_. He needed to feel Potter's mouth _moving_ against his, rather than simply allowing the kiss to happen.

Frustrated, Draco shifted, manoeuvring himself _closer_ and ending up half on Potter's lap. But even the increased contact didn't really help; it just served to remind him what he'd had for a few _wonderful_ minutes just hours before.

Draco slid his mouth from Potter's and focused his attention on Potter's neck. Despite still definitely being able to feel the influence of Orexis Votum, this didn't feel _right_ (he could vividly picture Potter gasping underneath him, arching his neck and _coming_, Draco _needed_ that); that was until Potter cleared his throat and said hesitantly, "Maybe you should leave a mark this time, make everyone think that the, uh, girlfriend put it there."

The potion's customary haze enveloped him around him rapidly and Draco's gasped, head spinning. Potter just _asked_… marking Potter, _Merlin,_ what a thought. Such a blatant claim of ownership on Dumbledore's favourite… everyone would see, would _know_. And Snape, Snape would see and know _exactly_ how it got there! A shiver ran down Draco's spine and he licked a path to Potter's collarbone.

"You want me to mark you?" he couldn't help but murmur smugly against Potter's neck.

"Well, I mean, if you don't want—" Draco bit down, hard, and Potter broke off with a gasp. Fuck, but this was more like it. Potter had his head tilted back to give Draco room, but Draco could easily pretend it had been thrown backwards in passion. And Potter's irregular breathing (which was probably just because he was uncomfortable) _could_ be, in Draco's imagination, because Potter was desperately trying to repress his urge to shove his cock down Draco's throat again.

Never mind that Potter didn't even remember that afternoon, and never mind that Potter was meeting with him very much against his will. In Draco's head, Potter was doing everything he could to not drag Draco upwards and snog the shit out of him.

Now fully turned on, Draco shifted closer to Potter and then froze. Against his thigh, was that—? No. No, it couldn't be. Potter wasn't, he wouldn't… right?

And, Draco reasoned with himself, even if it was, it didn't _mean_ anything. Every boy got them at inappropriate times. Not that this was inappropriate, but…

Innocent or not, Potter was still a teenage boy. Draco should not get his hopes up. Absolutely not.

Although this afternoon, Potter _was_ dreaming about _him_.

"Are you done?"

Draco started and glanced up. Potter was looking at him curiously and Draco realised that he'd been sitting unmoving for the best part of a minute.

"I," he began, and happened to glimpse out of the corner of his eye the vivid red mark on Potter's neck. "Oh, _Merlin_."

"Urgh, is it bad?" Potter brushed his fingers over the mark and winced.

Draco stared some more. "It's one of the hottest things I've ever seen," he answered truthfully, wondering how he'd managed to get harder than he already was. Potter cleared his throat and looked away uncomfortably.

"Well I guess, then… if you're okay to, I mean. If you're done…"

Draco took the hint and got up from his place straddling Potter's leg. They had been there for less than an hour, but Draco felt no desperate compulsion to make Potter stay.

"You should pull the left side of your robes down a bit, make sure it's visible," Draco advised faintly, eyes firmly on Potter's neck.

"Right." Potter adjusted his clothing and looked to Draco for confirmation. "Better?"

Draco nodded. "See you later." Potter, albeit giving Draco a strange look, raised a hand in farewell and left without another word.

Draco flopped backwards with a confused sigh and sat there alone for the rest of the evening, contemplating the possibility of Potter getting a hard-on while Draco was kissing him and wondering what on earth it might mean.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Harry was standing in front of the mirror in the boys' dorm having a small breakdown. He had never before even had an inkling that he was anything other than a normal (well…), heterosexual teenage boy, and yet here he was, bloody _fantasising _about Draco Malfoy! Of all people!

Yeah, there was definitely a lot of evidence to suggest that all this Dark Lord battling had seriously affected his mind. Take yesterday, for example: there he was, just catching up on his sleep in the Room of Requirement, and he had _such_ a realistic dream about Malfoy doing – well, doing something that he should really not be doing in Harry's dream. And the terrible thing was, if the completely relaxed state Harry was in when he woke up was anything to go by, he had enjoyed it _a lot_.

There hadn't been any, uh, physical evidence of Harry's enjoyment, though, which had puzzled him for a while. But then he'd remembered just where he was and figured that the Room of Requirement would do its thing to make sure that Harry didn't wake up sticky and uncomfortable, a fact for which he was admittedly grateful.

But then he'd met Malfoy as usual that night and the memory of the dream had been all he could think about. He was sure that Malfoy had to have noticed something; his face must have been bright red for the whole evening. And then Malfoy had started kissing him…

Harry lifted a hand to the purpling mark on his neck and leaned into the mirror, examining it closely. It had felt _so good_, Malfoy lavishing attention on him like that. Even Malfoy's weight pressing down on his leg had turned him on, even when Malfoy _bit_ him. There was definitely something wrong with him.

He was just contemplating whether to get Madam Pomfrey to make sure he hadn't hit his head at his last Quidditch practice or something when the dormitory door opened and the freckled face of Ron Weasley poked around it.

"Oi, Harry, get a move on, would you? It's almost—_ahh_, you're thinking about _her_."

Oh, yeah. _ Her_. The 'girlfriend'. Malfoy's advice last night had worked like a charm and Harry was accosted by five different people as soon as he'd made it back to the common room. He'd managed to get away with a vague 'we want to keep it a secret, you know', trusting that it'd be all over the school by morning that Harry Potter had a mysterious lover.

As Harry was currently hiding in his dorm, he didn't really know if the plan had worked or not.

Ron came and stood behind his shoulder and peered into the mirror. He ruffled his hair a bit, turning his head from side to side to admire the effect. "Mate," he said, once satisfied. "I don't care if _you're _too lovesick to eat, I'm _starving_. Are you coming or not?"

Ah, well. It was probably better to get it over and done with. At least it'd keep attention off Malfoy for a few weeks until he'd taken the antidote, Harry told himself. It was the least Harry could do after abandoning him like that last weekend.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said resignedly and braced himself.

It was as bad as he expected. As soon as he and Ron stepped through the doors, the level of chatter in the Great Hall rose considerably. Harry winced and made directly for the Gryffindor table, taking care not to make eye contact with anyone, least of all Malfoy. Hermione was waiting for them.

"You sure know how to get the school talking, Harry," she said, a little sympathetically.

Harry ignored her and eyed the neatly-folded copy of _The Daily Prophet_ by the side of her bowl of cornflakes. "I'm not in it, am I?" he asked warily.

"Nope," she replied, tossing the paper across the table. "It'll probably take a few days until they pick up on it."

"Gee, Hermione, that makes me feel so much better," Harry told her, and she shrugged.

Harry's classes that day were an absolute mess. Nobody (except Hermione) managed to get any work done at all because they were all too busy pestering Harry. By the end of the day the phrase 'I'm not telling you who it is, we want to keep it quiet' was practically an automatic response for Harry to any question asked of him and his ears were ringing from the shrill interrogations of what felt like the entire female population of Hogwarts.

Potions, predictably, was the worst. Snape had been in a particularly foul mood (most likely due to Harry supposedly being _happy_), and Malfoy fell into silent peals of laughter whenever the word 'girlfriend' was mentioned, which was incredibly frequently to say that Snape furiously demanded silence every time someone so much as breathed.

Even in his own common room, Harry didn't find peace. Lavender and Parvati followed him around, cooing about love at first sight and the heightened element of mystery surrounding him or some such rubbish, and all in all it was actually a relief to finally escape to meet Malfoy.

That was, of course, until he actually _met _Malfoy. Harry didn't know how his brain managed to think someone so irritatingly arrogant and yet at the same time really not mind it at all when held down by them and ravished. Surely the ideas should be conflicting?

Nonetheless, Harry had to live through being held to the wall and snogged by a surprisingly-strong Malfoy, all the while fighting the urge to spin them around and shove Malfoy backwards, holding him pinned while their mouths battled and… and trying to make sure that Malfoy didn't realise that Harry was hard. God, but sometimes Harry enjoyed wearing robes.

He arranged to meet Malfoy at eleven the following day, predicting that the Room of Requirement would probably be the only safe place in the school for him on a Saturday.

Even with no homework to do, it was still the early hours of the morning before Harry gratefully tumbled into his four-poster, ignoring the suggestive whistles from his dorm mates as he tried and failed to sneak in without them hearing and preparing himself for the inevitable Malfoy dreams with a resigned sort of anticipation.

***

When he woke the next day, it was to an empty dormitory. Harry checked his watch. Ten o'clock. It wasn't unusual for everybody to be awake by then (getting up at seven every morning was quite a hard habit to break), but Harry still felt that he'd been given a wonderful reprieve from the childish questions of a room full of teenage boys ('Have you done it yet, Harry?', 'Has she let you touch her tits?', 'She better be fit. She is fit, right, Harry?', 'Have you touched her _down there_?'), and showered and dressed quickly before his moment of tranquillity was ruined.

Making a snap decision to take the coward's route to the Room of Requirement, Harry grabbed his Invisibility cloak from his trunk and swirled it around himself, enjoying as always the feeling of freedom that came with the knowledge that nobody could see him.

He scribbled a quick note to Ron should he come looking for him and snuck out of the dorm, having to press himself against the wall halfway down the spiral staircase to avoid an oblivious Colin Creevey.

His journey to the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy was blissfully uninterrupted and once he reached the deserted corridor, he pulled off the cloak and stuffed it into his bag.

Once standing in front of the door to his and Malfoy's room, though, he found himself altogether unwilling to enter. Just why did he promise his day away to general exasperation and sexual frustration?

Maybe if he treated Malfoy the way he would Ron, Harry mused, staring hard at the doorknob, then his _thoughts_ would stop happening. Yeah, that was it. His mind was probably getting confused; every time he met Malfoy he ended up getting kissed. Maybe if they were to act more like… _friends_… then Harry would get over whatever little problem he was having.

Although how exactly did one act like friends with one's nemesis-turned-sexual-fantasy-subject? Especially when said sexual fantasy subject kissed him at every opportunity and Harry was _absolutely not at all_ going to kiss him back.

Not that Malfoy would likely complain if Harry were to kiss him. It was more a matter of morals. Malfoy was being forced into this, whereas Harry still had full control over his brain (apparently) and so to kiss Malfoy _now_ would be almost taking advantage of him. In a good way. Maybe.

Either way, it wasn't going to happen. Harry would make sure of that.

Malfoy was already in the Room, lounging idly on the bed. Harry, refusing to even _think_ about Malfoy-bed-Harry related thoughts, flopped down on the squashy red settee.

His attempts at keeping a distance between them were promptly shunned, however, as Malfoy swiftly walked over to him and straddled his lap, going in for a kiss.

In this position, it was awfully difficult for Harry not to push his hips upward and find out if Malfoy was as affected by the kiss as he was. Although, even if Malfoy did have a hard-on, it wouldn't be _real_. There's no way that Malfoy would like Harry _like that_ under normal circumstances. So why the hell was Harry…?

Malfoy broke the kiss and sat up, irritably pushing the hair out of his eyes. The two of them stared at each other.

_He's your friend, _Harry told himself firmly. _ Just act like he's your friend..._ talk _to him!_

"What do you wear under your robes?" he blurted.

_Oh, very platonic, Potter, well done._

Malfoy looked (understandably) confused. "Excuse me?"

Harry mentally cursed. "Well," he said, scrabbling for something to say to make him sound like less of an idiot. "Ron and Neville just wear jeans under their school stuff, but I can't really imagine you in denim… or anything…"

Harry's brain happily supplied him with images of Malfoy in denim. And then Malfoy in nothing at all.

"Are you asking me to strip for you, Potter?" A smirk curled around Malfoy's lips. _Malfoy coyly undoing the buttons of his shirt to expose a pale chest_... Harry shook his head quickly.

"Er, no," he said, his mouth dry. "I'm-I'm just curious. I've never… I mean…"

Malfoy took pity on him. "Well," he said slowly. "It depends? The really traditional purebloods tend not to wear anything underneath…" _oh god oh god, please tell me that Malfoy is not naked underneath his robes right now oh god_ "… but being that exposed really creeps me out." … s_hit. I mean, uh, thank goodness_.

"I usually just go with shirt and trousers. Not much different to what you wear, really, although my trousers certainly aren't _blue_."

"What sort of stuff are they made of? Just cotton?" Harry asked, wondering just why, exactly, he was inquiring about the _material_ of Malfoy's _trousers_. He truly was a master conversationalist. No, really.

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "I can't say I've ever really studied them all that closely, Potter," he said. "If you're really that curious, I'd try to sneak you in to my dorm so you can frolic in my wardrobe to your heart's content, except that's pretty much impossible. This is _Slytherin_ we're talking about."

"Yeah, but…" Harry faltered. Was he really going to tell Malfoy this? Was he forgetting just who he was talking to? Was he letting his over-imaginative dick think for him? Was he really stupid enough to ignore all these internal questions? "I have _this_." And he pulled out the Invisibility cloak from his bag.

Malfoy's jaw dropped.

"I've always wanted one of those!" he said in an awed voice, reaching out to run his fingers over the light, silky fabric. "Dad always said that if I ever beat Granger in an exam, he'd get me one."

Harry shook off the strangeness of hearing Malfoy call his father something as normal as 'Dad'.

"Can I try it on?"

Surely Harry wasn't going to trust Malfoy with his _dead father's cloak_. "Sure," he said, and Malfoy clambered excitedly off Harry's lap. Harry surreptitiously adjusted himself while Malfoy was distracted.

Eventually, after much persuasion on Harry's part ('Oh wow, look Potter, I'm a member of the Headless Hunt!'), Malfoy agreed to sneak Harry into Slytherin.

Harry didn't know why he was so intrigued by the thought of seeing Malfoy's bedroom (aside from the obvious: more realistic fantasies), but it certainly was nothing to do with the material of Malfoy's clothing. He settled for curiosity as to whether it had changed since second year. Yeah, that'd do.

The two of them managed to successfully make it through the Slytherin common room (password: _Parselmouth_) with Harry under the cloak, staring around with interest, and Malfoy leading the way, stalking confidently towards a narrow corridor leading from the main room, well and truly in his element.

The narrow corridor turned out to lead to the dormitories and Malfoy stopped at the seventh door on the left side. Looking over his shoulder for the first time since they entered the common room, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Harry didn't know what he was expecting, but the layout was pretty much the same as Gryffindor, except the bed sheets and hangings were in green. He was about to say so when Malfoy held up a hand and gestured to a door leading from the dorm, presumably the bathroom. Harry understood and fell silent.

"Hello?" Malfoy called, peering around the door. He turned back around with a satisfied smile. "No one here."

Harry finally pulled the cloak off. "The layout's pretty much the—what?" The smile had slid off Malfoy's face and his eyes were almost comically wide.

"It's just… seeing you in my _bedroom_. _Merlin_." He slowly walked towards Harry. Now Malfoy had said it, Harry's own mind seemed to be thinking along the same lines. _Get a _grip_, Potter!_

Oh, but… but Malfoy was _kissing_ him again, and it was just that much more difficult to resist him when he was standing mere feet away from Malfoy's bed (although admittedly Harry didn't know which one it was). Malfoy seemed to think so too, because he let out a little moan and slid his hand up Harry's T-shirt. Harry's skin tingled. It was really, _really_ hard not to kiss back.

In fact, Harry was considering throwing his morals out of the window… when the door slammed open.

"Parkinson! This isn't what it—"

"Shit, Panse, when are you going to learn how to knock?"

"Early afternoon on a Saturday, I didn't think I needed to," she said weakly, staring at them, one hand still on the doorknob.

Malfoy's hand was still just under the hem of Harry's T-shirt. Harry's squirmed to try and get Malfoy to move it. Malfoy stubbornly refused. "Are you going to shut the door?" Malfoy asked irritably, shooting a '_shut up and trust me!_' look at Harry as soon as Parkinson's back was turned. Harry wasn't sure that trusting Malfoy was a wise decision, really, but what choice did he have?

"Okay," Parkinson said shortly after she'd slammed the door to the dormitory closed (which Harry also didn't think was the best of ideas; how had he managed to get himself locked in a room with two Slytherins?). "Explain."

Malfoy squeezed Harry's wrist painfully (which Harry interpreted as 'do not speak') and began. "Well, uh. We're kind of… a thing." Harry began to splutter a protest but Malfoy's nails dug into the skin of Harry's arm and that _really hurt_. Harry shut up.

He needn't have, apparently.

"I don't believe you," Parkinson said shortly. "Prove it."

"Prove—?!"

"What do you want us to do?"

She tilted her head, contemplating. It was by far the scariest thing Harry had ever seen. "I want you to snog," she decided.

Malfoy grinned. "That's no problem, right, Harry?"

Harry, feeling way out of his depth, disagreed. "I don't really think—"

"Oh, come on," Malfoy said in an airy tone of voice that was somewhat belied by his vice-like grip on Harry's wrist and wide eyes. "It's not like we haven't done it before."

While that was technically true, Harry still wasn't altogether happy with the situation.

"Never in front of someone else," he muttered, trying not to give Malfoy's cover story away by saying _'Well yes but that was only once and only then because you had pissed me off_'.

"Cute," Parkinson said curtly. "But you should know that if I don't see some action within the next ten seconds, I am going straight back into the common room and telling the whole house that Harry Potter is in your bedroom, Draco."

"Pansy!"

"You shouldn't keep stuff from me, then. Seven seconds."

"Potter, _please._"

"… five… four… three…"

In the end, it was the hopeless expression on Malfoy's face that convinced him. Cursing his life in seven different ways, Harry leaned forwards and awkwardly mashed his mouth against Malfoy's. Thankfully, it was over quickly, and he hastily pulled away and glanced over at Parkinson.

She did not look impressed.

"Well, if that's the best you can do…" she turned towards the door.

"No, Panse, wait!" Malfoy's eyes were practically wild. "Potter, listen to me," he said to Harry in an undertone. "You're going to have to do this properly. Just trust me, will you? It'll be far easier in the long run if we do this now, I swear, so _please_."

Harry's eyes flicked desperately between the two Slytherins, Parkinson standing with her back against the door, arms folded, eyes narrowed; Malfoy gazing at him pleadingly, clutching Harry's wrist so hard that Harry was seriously concerned that there would be bone damage.

"Okay, fine," Harry murmured. "But you're going to have to lead this thing, there's no way I can. Not with her here."

Draco's eyes acquired a worrying gleam and his mouth pulled up at one corner. "Oh believe me, Potter, that won't be a problem. Ready, Panse?" he called out.

"I'm so ready I've practically aged fifty years," she retorted.

Malfoy winked at her. "We'll make it worth it," he said, and without any hesitation, captured Harry's mouth with his own.

Harry, although aware that he was being watched, found it surprisingly easy to pretend that this was just another dream now that Malfoy had taken control, and he somehow managed to kiss back. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was alone with Malfoy back in the Room of Requirement and Malfoy hadn't taken a stupid potion and none of this was real and all of a sudden it seemed _stupid_ not to kiss Malfoy. Why wouldn't he? Malfoy was a perfectly good kisser. In fact – Harry, for the first time, opened his mouth to Malfoy's questing tongue – Malfoy was an _excellent_ kisser.

Harry vaguely heard a voice say, "Now that's more like it,", but that didn't matter, because it wasn't Malfoy that was saying it and, really, Malfoy was all that mattered right now. As long as Malfoy kept doing that with his tongue, Harry was perfectly content to let the rest of the world carry on without them.

In fact, Malfoy was a little _too_ good at this. Harry couldn't let Malfoy _win_. Determined to be an active participant, Harry brought up his free hand and pushed it into Malfoy's – _really soft , _why hadn't he noticed that before? – hair. Malfoy let out a little moan and Harry took that opportunity to sneak his tongue into Malfoy's mouth and explore it as thoroughly as Malfoy had just been exploring his.

It was a glorious feeling, his tongue twining with Malfoy's and Malfoy's hand up the back of his T-shirt, sending little sparks up and down his body. His own hand was raking through Malfoy's hair and, if the continued whimpers coming from somewhere vaguely in the direction of Malfoy were any indication, Malfoy liked that.

But then the noises disappeared and Harry blinked, not seeing anything in the sudden light of having his eyes open again.

"Pansy, get out _right now_," Malfoy's voice growled and then the mouth was back and Harry closed his eyes again and the mouth was on his _neck_ and _god_ how could his neck be so _sensitive_ and then he was falling backwards onto a bed and Malfoy grabbed Harry's glasses and threw them over his shoulder and they were kissing again and it was good, it was really good, and a Malfoy moved his hands down to his T-shirt and _shit a hand was on his cock_.

He shouldn't – _it felt so good_ – but it was Malfoy – _god,_ fingers on the zipper of his jeans – was Parkinson still here? – god, shit, _god that felt so good _ – if Pansy Parkinson was about to see his dick he would never forgive himself – Malfoy moaned and Harry moaned and there were tingles all over his body and the mark on his neck stung and _ohgodthatwasMalfoy'smouth_.

"_Nnnrgh_!" Harry moaned, not able to articulate what he really wanted to say, which was 'Wow, Malfoy, your mouth is surprisingly talented and I hope that Parkinson is no longer in the room.'

Malfoy moaned louder (which Harry hoped meant 'Thank you for the compliment and yes, Parkinson has left') and it was muffled because his _mouth_ was on Harry's _dick_ and it sent _delicious vibrations_ through Harry's whole body and Harry couldn't help but _thrust_ because he needed _more, god, please more right now Malfoy, god_ and it was _heat _it was _suction _it was the best thing to ever happen to him and he was – _shitfuckohmygodfuckyes_ – he was – he was coming down Malfoy's throat.

The roaring in Harry's ears faded away and suddenly there was silence in the room, save for two sets of heavy breathing.

"Malfoy," Harry croaked, not daring to open his eyes. "Please tell me that Parkinson isn't here."

A final lick – Harry shivered – and some movement and Malfoy's voice was all of a sudden near his ear. "She's gone," it murmured. "But I'll bet you anything she's right outside the door."

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. A blurry-around-the-edges Malfoy with somewhat messy hair was the first thing he saw. "Hi," he said softly.

Malfoy's eyes, for some reason, widened. "Hi yourself," he choked out.

"Did you…?"

Malfoy seemed to understand what he was asking and smiled. "About half way through."

"Oh. Good." Harry couldn't for the life of him understand why he was disappointed. Surely he didn't _want_ to have to reciprocate? "What are we going to do about…?"

Malfoy, again, seemed to understand. Maybe his comprehension skills were higher the less time it had been since he'd had an orgasm. "She'll be listening to every word we say, so just mind yourself, okay?" Harry nodded. "We're just going to have to be a really cute couple for the day. The more adorable she thinks we are, the more smug she'll be that she knows about us while nobody else does and the less likely she'll be to tell anyone."

Harry shook his head and sat up. "This is so messed up," he groaned. Malfoy gripped his shoulder.

"We can do this, Potter. Merlin, after _that_ performance it shouldn't take much to satisfy her."

Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah, about that. I—"

"If you dare to say you're sorry right now I will hurt you," Malfoy interrupted.

"Right," Harry said instead. "Well. I guess we should get her back in?"

"You might want to put yourself away first," Malfoy commented lightly and Harry blushed furiously and tucked his cock back into his pants.

"You can come in again, Panse!" Malfoy called, grinning, and Parkinson pushed the door open. Her face was rather flushed.

"You weren't wanking out there, were you?" Malfoy asked, wrinkling his nose.

Parkinson smirked at him. "Out there in the corridor? I have more class than that. But you can bet your life I will be later. Mother of Merlin! I didn't know you had it in you, Potter." Harry felt his face heat up and Malfoy put his arm around Harry's waist and pushed his glasses back onto his nose.

"He's good, isn't he?" he said affectionately and Harry was surprised at how genuine he sounded all of a sudden. Slytherins. "He seems so innocent, and yet the _noises_ he makes…" Both Malfoy and Parkinson let out a little groan.

"Can we change the subject now, please?" Harry cut in, sure that his face was now a flaming red. Malfoy smirked and kissed him.

"I thought you had a _girlfriend_!" Parkinson said accusingly to Harry when they broke apart.

"He does," Malfoy said smugly before Harry could answer. "Me."

Pansy stared at him in pure disgust. "How long has this been going on?" she demanded.

"About two weeks," Harry said truthfully.

"Two weeks…" Malfoy – no, Draco, Harry reminded himself – repeated, and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking; they were halfway through the month already. They could really get through this. Their lives didn't have to be ruined forever. Just two more weeks and it was all over.

"Two…" Pansy started. "That's—oh! Potter, what the _fuck_ did you do to Draco last weekend, you bastard?"

"Pansy, no, it's fine, he—"

"Shut up, Draco, I want to hear what he's got to say for himself."

Harry quailed under Pansy's glare. He looked over at Malfoy, who shrugged.

"We, uh… had a bit of a row," he said carefully. "But Draco knows I'm sorry about that, right?"

Malfoy grinned and pulled Harry closer. "Right," he said, and leaned in for a much deeper kiss that Harry had to try really hard not to get lost in. "And I forgive you," he added when they stopped, noses still touching. Pansy cleared her throat. Harry blinked and looked over at her.

"Any other questions?" he asked, remembering Malfoy's order to be cute and resting his head on Malfoy's shoulder. The arm that was snaked around him tightened.

"Yes," she said simply. "_How_?"

Harry, completely at a loss this time, let Malfoy answer her.

"Well," Malfoy began with the air of someone about to depart great wisdom. "You remember that Sunday I fell out with Zabini?" Parkinson nodded. "Well it's sort of to do with that."

Harry's ears pricked up. Was he about to find out the mystery of who gave Malfoy the potion? Apparently Parkinson was unaware that the two of them were anything but a normal (_well…_) couple, so that crossed _her_ off the list…

"_Blaise_ knows about the two of you?" she demanded. "You told _him_ and not _me_?"

"Of course I didn't _tell_ him, what do you take me for? He saw me and Potter in a fight and he _claimed_ that he saw us kissing when we actually weren't. And then Potter called him some names and Zabini hexed him and…"

Malfoy had a really nice neck, Harry mused. It was all pale and smooth and Harry could see Malfoy's throat moving when he swallowed.

"… so _then_ he said he'd give us ten galleons each if we did and, let's be honest, neither of us need the money, so we refused, so he said…"

Harry bet it tasted good, too. Malfoy's mouth tasted good. Sort of sugary, like Malfoy'd just eaten a chocolate frog.

"… and then we Obliviated him, so he has no idea what happened that day except that we're not friends any… any… _shit_, Potter…"

Malfoy's neck wasn't as sweet as his mouth was, Harry concluded, but it was still very nice indeed. But then his head was yanked backwards by his hair and he blinked. Before he could speak, though, his mouth was covered by another, and _there_ it was, that lovely sweetness stroking against his tongue.

"Merlin," Malfoy whispered when Harry had reluctantly pulled away.

"You got that right," a voice affirmed from behind him and Harry started, having momentarily forgotten that Parkinson was in the room with them. "Hell, Draco."

"I know," Draco agreed, eyes still locked with Harry's. "I might keep him. Who would have thought it, eh?"

"Who indeed," Parkinson echoed faintly. She cleared her throat. "So, did the two of you have any particular reason to be in here, or were you just lacking an alternative place to snog?"

"We're playing Dress-Up Potter!" Draco said happily. "The poor thing doesn't know what real wizard kids wear, so I decided to show him!"

Parkinson eyed Harry critically. "He could certainly do with a makeover. Merlin, Potter, even for Muggle standards you look atrocious." Harry self-consciously fingered the edge of his frayed maroon top and said nothing.

"In a way, Panse," Malfoy said, walking over to a large wardrobe, opening the door and staring inside. "I'm glad you're here. I'm not good with the fashiony stuff."

"I was aware of that, actually," Parkinson said dryly and joined him in peering inside the wardrobe. "Merlin, how many clothes do you _own_?"

Draco shrugged. "Mum buys them for me. She seems to think that I need a different set of robes for every day of the year."

Harry went over to them and peered over Malfoy's shoulder. Wizard robes of every colour imaginable were lined up in no discernable order. Quite a few were scrunched up and lining the floor of the wardrobe, too. There were also normal button-up shirts, shirts with ruffed necks, lace-up trousers that looked like something out of the Muggle Victorian era, several long black cloaks and multiple pairs of leather boots.

"I think I'll stick to jeans and jumpers," he said weakly.

"Nonsense!" Parkinson chirped, already sorting through the mass of clothing. "I want to see this. Hmm. I think this – " she tugged a relatively normal white shirt out of the mess, " – Draco, you should sort this out, really… and because I'm a nice person, _these_ – " a button up – _button up!_ – pair of trousers, " – and, hmm… Draco, try to find a green robe, would you? Quite a dark one, there's a lad."

Draco grumbled as Parkinson chivvied him forwards and he began digging around at the bottom of the wardrobe. Harry watched him with amusement, but then Parkinson grabbed his arm and dragged him across the room, out of Draco's earshot.

"Listen, Potter," she hissed. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but it ends soon, got that?"

Harry blinked at her, bemused. "Game?" he asked.

She scoffed. "Oh, come on. You might have Draco fooled, but he's a complete idiot with the few people he actually likes."

"Parkinson, I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said truthfully, his mind repeating the phrase _'people he actually likes_'.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're stringing him along, and he has no idea," she snarled. "Break it off with him _now_ before you can hurt him properly, and I won't hex your dick off."

"Um," Harry said intelligently. "I'm not stringing him along. And I think Draco might have something to say about you hexing my dick off. He's quite fond of it, from what I've been able to gather."

"Funny," she spat. "I wonder if you'll still have that _sterling_ sense of humour when you suddenly acquire the ability to wear your balls for earrings."

Harry's crotch area was really not enjoying this conversation. Neither was the rest of Harry, really. "Look, Parkinson," he said to her in a low voice. "To be honest, I'm not really bothered that you don't like me. In fact, for all I care, you could have an anti-Harry Potter shrine set up by your bed. But I…" he broke off, and then figured that he might as well tell Parkinson the truth. Or something resembling it, anyway. As long as she believed that they were boyfriends…

"I like Draco. I genuinely do. Probably a damn sight more than he likes me." Which was true, if you considered the fact that Harry was the one _not _under the influence of a mind-altering potion. "And besides, I doubt there's anything I could do that'd _hurt_ him. You Slytherins are made of sturdy stuff."

She looked at him as if he had the intelligence of a slug. "Weren't you listening? He _likes_ you. He's got his guard down."

Harry snorted. Not likely. "We've only been going out for two weeks," he told her. "I doubt he's that exposed around me just yet."

She didn't reply straightaway, looking instead at the half of Draco that was visible, sticking out of the wardrobe. "Normally I'd agree with you," she said softly. "It took him about two years to let me in. But with you… you've always been able to get to him, you know? Ever since first year. He complained non-stop for _weeks_ when you refused to be his friend that day on the train. And ever since then, whenever you had a fight. With anyone else he'd just brush it off, but with _you_…"

They stood in silence, both of them watching Draco's legs as he dug around for whatever it was he was looking for.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Harry said quietly after a while. "I don't know how I can make you believe me."

"You can't," she said flatly. "Because I don't trust you one little bit, and I think Draco's a fool for thinking that you're being honest with him." She finally turned to look Harry straight in the eye. "If I let you live now, Potter, and you screw him over, you are going to be _so sorry_, I promise you that. You will think about the Dark Lord with fondness and affection once I've finished with you."

Harry stared back seriously. She was defending her friend; he couldn't fault her for that, even if she _was_ doing it in an alarmingly violent manner. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he said.

"You better."

"Are you two talking about me? Saying how magnificently wonderful I am, I hope." Draco's front end emerged from the wardrobe and he pulled out a set of deep forest-green robes with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Harry exchanged one last look with Parkinson and went over to the wardrobe where Draco was. His hair was ridiculously mussed from the battle with his clothes, and Harry, conscious of the fact that Parkinson's beady eye would be watching his every move, shoved a hand through it to ruffle it further.

"I like it," he grinned.

"Very post-hot snogging session?" Draco suggested, eyeing Harry's habitually-messy hair with a leer.

"Hmm," Harry said as if deep in thought. "I think it's more pre-hot snogging session, actually." And he wound an arm around Draco's neck and pulled him into a slow kiss, all tongues and stroking hands. It lasted longer than he had intended and by the time he pulled away, the both of them were breathing heavily.

"Was that hot enough, do you think?" Harry asked, his lips still brushing Draco's with every word.

Draco cleared his throat. "Possibly a little _too_ hot," he replied in kind. "Don't suppose you'd clear off for a bit again, would you, Panse?" he asked, raising his voice.

Harry chanced a glance over at Parkinson. Her eyes were wide. "Hell, no," she said. "If you want to do the nasty right now, go ahead, but this time I will be watching."

Draco cast an imploring glance at Harry who sent back a firm '_not on your life_' and Draco let out a sigh of disappointment. "You're right, I guess it would be weird."

"_Weird_?" Harry yelped in mock-terror, finally letting go of Draco's neck. "She threatened to hex my bits off not ten minutes ago! I'm not going to make it _easy_ for her!"

Draco cast a questioning look at Parkinson, who shrugged. "Had to make sure he was up to standard."

"As if I'd go for anything less," Draco said airily, waving a hand and looking worriedly at Harry. Harry smiled, and that seemed to reassure Draco if the suddenly-enthusiastic grin he acquired was anything to go by. "Great! Now get your kit off."

And so it was that Harry spent the day being leered at by two Slytherins as he continually undressed (he insisted on going into the bathroom away from Parkinson when he changed; Draco insisted on going into the bathroom with him to 'help') and dressed again in various old-fashioned bits of wizard wear, each more ludicrous than the last.

He also spent a disproportionate amount of time kissing Draco, to say that only hours ago he'd sworn that he never would. But it was okay, really, because he was only doing it so that Parkinson wouldn't spread around the school that his new girlfriend was Draco Malfoy. And if when he and Draco were alone in the bathroom, they ended up kissing there, too, well that was just to keep the deception going. It didn't _mean_ anything, and it was okay because once today was over, Harry would go back to normal; i.e. _not_ snogging Malfoy.

"Well," Parkinson said when they'd finally exhausted themselves and flopped down in a tangled heap on Draco's bed at nearly six o'clock. "I think I'll, ah, leave you two love birds to it. I'll keep the boys in the common room for another hour or so, Draco, so make the most of it." And with a little wave, she skipped out of the door, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Harry rested his head on Draco's stomach and sighed in contentment. He hated to say it, but he had enjoyed his afternoon with the Slytherins. One Slytherin in particular…

The significance of Parkinson's absence suddenly hit him like a physical blow.

They had no one to act for. They didn't have to be a couple any more.

It was no longer okay for him to kiss Draco Malfoy.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Yesterday had been one of the best days of Draco's life.

He hadn't known that he could ever feel as _alive_ as he had with Potter touching him and kissing him and wearing his clothes. It was probably a good thing Pansy was there because otherwise he would have not stopped bringing Potter off over and over again. _Merlin_, that boy could _kiss_.

Of course, without Pansy there none of it would have happened in the first place. Draco was unspeakably glad that she had never, not in seven years of their friendship, valued his privacy.

But that was the problem; once Pansy had left, the kissing and touching and stopped completely, like it was all just an act. Of course, that's what is _was_, but for a while it seemed that Draco's mind had managed to convince itself that it was real, that he and Potter were happy, together.

In hindsight, Draco was disgusted with himself.

Not only had he been sickeningly relaxed with someone – enough to let them joke with him and caress him like a lover – but that person was _Potter_. Harry _fucking _Potter. It was _repulsive_ the way Draco had blindly followed any suggestion that Potter had made, the way that he'd melted in Potter's embrace.

It was even worse that it was all he could think about.

That night he had lay in his bed, staring up at the canopy and craving Potter like he never had before and hating himself for it. Maybe the potion matured with time, or with extended contact, because this was deeper than it ever had been. Even that weekend when Potter had abandoned him totally; yes, that had been terrible, it had felt like his life was being torn away from him, but this was different. This time the potion had extended into his _soul_.

Fucking Zabini. Fucking Snape for not being able to fix him. And fucking _Potter_ for being so infuriatingly desirable.

At least it was a Sunday, so Draco could hide away in the common room and not have to see Potter in class or at mealtimes. Of course, Draco still had to _eat_, but his Potter-watching had become so frequent that he knew just when (and even what) Potter preferred to eat, could predict who he would sit next to, and could determine with precision what mood Potter was in simply by the way he walked to the Gryffindor table.

And yet, horribly, Draco still wanted to find out more.

What was _wrong_ with him? Surely if he tried hard enough, he could overcome the influence of the potion. Was he just so weak-willed that he would surrender to anything bestowed upon him? If the Dark Lord turned up at the Hogwarts gates, would Draco simply walk up to him and sign his life over like an idiot?

Of course not. Draco was better than that. He could resist his father's urgings to follow a madman, and he could resist his own brain's urgings to think about Potter. It was only for two more weeks. That was _nothing_.

And so Draco found himself in the common room, pretending to care about other people and determinedly _not_ thinking about a certain Gryffindor. And if, when it became closer and closer to evening, he checked the clock every five minutes, then so what? He was simply a punctual person, that's all. It was just impolite to leave someone waiting when you had made arrangements with them.

And, fine, maybe he did head up to the seventh floor right after dinner. But he ate late on Sundays and it would look suspicious if he'd gone to the common room and left again straight afterwards and, really, forty-five minutes wasn't _that_ early at all.

Potter wasn't there when Draco pushed open the door and peered in. Good. That was good. It meant that Draco could prepare himself. Try to stifle the rapidly rising anticipation. He would _not_ be beaten by a stupid bloody potion.

He sat at the desk and stared out at the darkened grounds. It wasn't long until the sound of the door opening and footsteps walking in hit his ears. He didn't turn around. The tingling of his skin that meant that Potter was nearby was nothing. Draco wouldn't have even come here tonight if he hadn't already experienced what a mess that would be. He didn't need Potter. He didn't.

"Malfoy?"

Draco shivered. So what if Potter had a nice voice? That didn't mean anything, either. It was just an observation. Like saying that Potter had stunningly green eyes. Anyone could notice that.

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

He should probably answer. He didn't want to be _rude_ or anything. He turned around.

Well, fuck.

What had he been thinking? Of course he needed Potter. Potter was a _god_. A sexy god with sexy hair and sexy eyes and a sexy mouth that Draco's unsexy unworthy mouth needed to be touching _right fucking now_.

The desk chair scraped as Draco threw himself towards Potter, pressing their bodies together as close as he could. Familiar sparks of desire set themselves off around Draco's body and he sighed. This was where he needed to be. Flush against Potter, his lips against Potter's neck. Although, he knew, it could be better. It could be _so much_ better.

Draco slid his mouth along Potter's jaw, murmuring a greeting and Merlin knew what else, until his lips touched Potter's and it was… it was…

Not enough.

Something was missing: _Potter_. The fiery stubborn bastard that Draco hated who always refused to back down and who kissed _so well_.

Draco tried his best to coax Potter's mouth open, wanting – _needing – _to feel a response, to feel Potter come alive under Draco's touch like he had done yesterday. Potter remained unmoving.

Frustrated, Draco wrenched his mouth away. "Is there any chance I can convince you to kiss me?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice even.

Potter stared at him levelly, his hands in his pockets. "Yesterday was just for Parkinson," he said. "It won't happen again."

Even though he had expected it, Potter's words still crushed Draco a little bit. He clutched at Harry's shoulders, wishing that he could be as casually indifferent as Potter was being. Merlin, he hated this. "Potter," he croaked. "Please. I'm asking you nicely. I _need_—"

"The only thing you need is prolonged contact," Potter cut across him flatly. "I'll provide that. I'll let you kiss me. But I'm not going to participate. This doesn't involve me."

Draco felt like sobbing. It _didn't_ involve Potter, that was the problem. It _should_ do. Draco needed it to. Needed it more than he'd ever needed anything before.

He made sure to leave several angry red marks on Potter's neck that night. It didn't make him feel better.

The next few days were terrible. He continued meeting with Potter every evening, and it seemed to stave off the haze of depression that going completely Potterless induced, but quite honestly, Draco would rather have that.

This was so much worse. Because he _had_ Potter. For all the potion knew, Potter was _his_. And yet he didn't have Potter at all.

Draco was in full control of his brain. And that meant that he could _feel_ his sanity slipping away from him, bit by bit.

He needed to fix this mess. Fast.

***

It was Wednesday before he came up with a plan, but once he did, Draco was severely disappointed in himself for taking so long. It was so _obvious_. And he was pretty sure that if the first stage of the plan went well, the rest of it would almost definitely work. He knew that from experience. Trouble was, the first stage was by far the trickiest.

But before he could even get to the first stage, there was something he had to acquire…

He waited until most of the school had gone to dinner, then headed to his dorm. It was empty, but obviously that was no guarantee. He cast a charm on the door that would alert him if someone was approaching, and snuck over to Nott's bed.

In Slytherin, Nott was notorious for being the go-to guy for any potion or substance that nobody else could get. He had a seemingly endless supply of morally dubious brews (not that Draco would know, or anything). In fact, now Draco thought about it, he would be very surprised if the Orexis Votum hadn't originally come from him.

But right now, Draco couldn't afford to ask Nott for anything, lest he figure out Draco's… situation. But Nott had to get his stock from _somewhere_.

Catalogues, maybe, that's what he was looking for. Possibly leaflets or something. Unless, of course, Nott got his potions in person, in which case Draco was utterly screwed.

Hmm… taking a moment to disable any security spells (and there would be some), Draco started at the bedside table. Spare quills and ink, lube, _Potions Quarterly_, an old chess set, some letters from his mother… nothing interesting there.

He tried under the mattress. A few handkerchiefs (Draco did not want to think about those thank you very much) and a copy of _Witches Weekly_, but no lists of illegal potions. Shit.

After ten more minutes of fruitless searching, Draco gave up. Somebody could walk in at any minute, and it didn't look like he was going to get anywhere. Disappointedly reassembling the web of protection charms around Nott's bed, Draco planned his next move.

He could try the apothecary in Hogsmeade, but there wasn't another Hogsmeade weekend for a week and a half, and with any luck this would all be over by then. Maybe he could research _legal_ potions? Draco snorted at the thought. That would require way too much effort. Plus, anything that the Ministry of Magic allowed was bound to be useless.

Hell, the luck he was having, maybe he could summon up some Death Eaters and tell them that he thought they were fools. It was probably the easiest option at this point.

Hang on.

_Summon_. Sweet Merlin, but he really must be stupid. He hoped that Orexis Votum affected one's mental capacity, because if not, Draco's self-esteem just took a definite hit.

Pulling out his wand and resisting the urge to curse himself with it, Draco murmured a summoning charm and held his breath.

Nothing.

Then—

"Oh shit," Draco swore as Nott's spells were triggered and a wailing noise emanated from somewhere near the wall. Casting a hasty _Silencio _on the door, Draco moved closer to investigate. A tiny rectangular piece of wall by the head of Nott's bed, no larger than a Galleon, was… glowing. Hoping that this wasn't a booby trap, Draco touched his wand to it.

The alarm spell abruptly ceased and a cupboard door appeared where the glowing patch had been. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached out and tugged open the door.

_Success_.

The cupboard was filled with scrolls and bits of parchment, all addressed to Nott. Draco quickly sorted through them all. He still needed to know Nott's provider. Without that, his plan was not going to happen. _Request, request, request, Which Broomstick, request_—hang on. Which Broomstick? Nott wouldn't read a Quidditch magazine if you paid him.

Draco extended a shaking hand and pulled the magazine out from under the pile of parchment. He was right, it wasn't _Which Broomstick_ at all. It was exactly what he'd been looking for. It was the key to Potter's cooperation.

A stock list from _Surdly & Sons_, connoisseurs in the creation and distribution of illegal potions and substances. _Excellent_.

Draco stuffed the fake magazine under his pillow and hastily tried to put Nott's bed back to how it had been. He wasn't all that successful, but he was too excited to care. He was close. Harry Potter was going to be _his_.

***

It took two days for his order to arrive. Two _torturous _days in which every moment spent with Potter was oozing with unfulfilled lust.

The combination of searing relief and extraordinary anticipation Draco felt on Friday morning when a nondescript brown owl neatly dropped a package on his lap was almost overwhelming. It took every ounce of skill that Draco possessed not to jump from his seat and whoop in triumph, but somehow he managed. He met Nott's suspicious gaze with an innocently raised eyebrow and nonchalantly tucked the package into his schoolbag.

The day dragged. Every class failed to hold his attention, even Potions. How was he supposed to concentrate when Potter was just five cauldrons over? Snape would understand. Instead of working, Draco lost himself in his imagination, fantasizing about what could be happening mere _hours_ from now, how Potter would give in to him and it would be magnificent, it would be _wonderful_.

He left dinner early and went straight to the Room of Requirement. Potter wouldn't be here for at least another two hours, but even being in that room – _their_ room – calmed Draco a little.

He wandered over to the window and looked out. The Quidditch pitch was lit up with several large floating balls of light (a necessity in the darkness of winter months) and a team were just mounting their brooms for the start of practice.

A team wearing burgundy robes.

He could immediately tell which one was Potter, of course. He was instantly recognisable, even at a distance. The confidence with which he flew belied any awkwardness he had when on the ground; in the air, he seemed like the hero everyone thought him to be.

Merlin, and he was good. He swooped around the pitch as if he owned it, flying without even once touching the broom with his hands as he directed the other players.

And you could tell that they all adored him. Even when they were playing, all of their attention was focused on Potter, waiting for him to say something, wanting his praise. And he, being the noble wonderful idiotic bastard hero, would give it.

Draco sat there, just watching, until even the magical light began to fade and the Gryffindors finally gave in and headed to the changing rooms. Even when out of sight, Potter dominated Draco's thoughts. He'd be in the shower right now. He'd be naked and wet and covered in soap suds and running his hands all over his body and _fuck_ Draco was hard again.

But he refused to take care of it. He'd rather Potter did it, and tonight he might even get round to doing so.

It wasn't long before seven black dots emerged from the changing rooms and headed up to the castle. Draco checked the time. If he was lucky, Potter would head straight there instead of going back to his common room first. If that was the case, he would be here soon. Any minute now…

The door swung open and Draco's breath caught.

"Hey," Potter said absently, throwing his bag onto the Gryffindor sofa.

"Hello," Draco returned, pushing thoughts of naked Potter from his head. _Soon_. "Here." He threw Potter a light silver flask, which Potter's hand shot out and caught without thinking. Draco was not jealous at all of Potter's natural Seeker skills. Nope. Not one little bit.

Potter studied the flask suspiciously. "What's this?"

"Just water," Draco said lightly. "You came here straight from practice, right? I figured you might be thirsty."

"You got me _water_?" Harry said, his expression highly disbelieving.

Draco grinned and ran a hand through his hair casually. "Yes, Potter, I got you _water_. I'm being nice to you so you'll let me into your pants. It's a cunning plot, you see." That was at least half true. Ish.

Potter frowned at the flask in his hand and Draco tried hard to resist the temptation to go up to Potter and kiss that frown away. He knew he could do it, too. He'd _seen_ it. Twice. Twice in _two days_, even if those two times both promised never to repeat themselves without Draco's 'assistance'. It was still far more than enough to fuel Draco's overactive imagination. It took almost no effort at all to picture Potter lying on his back, an expression of dazed contentment on his face, his hand still clutched in Draco's hair…

Draco cleared his throat. "Merlin, Potter, you don't _have_ to drink it," he said exasperatedly, for Potter was still studying the flask as if it was about to explode. "I was only trying to be _thoughtful_. If you still don't trust me, by all means…"

He watched in fascination as the cogs in Potter's brain clearly turned (in the wrong direction). How had Potter survived for so long when he was so ridiculously easy to manipulate? This wasn't even a challenge.

To prove Draco's point, Harry suddenly scowled, yanked the cork out with his teeth and, with only the tiniest bit of hesitation, took a deep gulp from the flask. Draco's eyes immediately fixed on Potter's neck (from which Draco's marks had sadly faded) and he gleefully observed the muscles in Potter's throat as Potter swallowed.

Harry lowered the flask and frowned again. "It – tastes a bit funny," he said uncertainly.

"Hmm," Draco agreed, nodding sagely. "That's probably because it's not really water."

Potter let out a strange choking sound. "You _bastard_!" He dropped the flask jerkily and it fell to the floor, the rest of its contents spilling over the carpet with a dull _glug-glug-glug._ "What did you give me?"

"A potion," Draco said quietly. "A lust potion, so you'll want me like I want you." Potter swore. "I don't know how effective it'll be," Draco continued, ignoring him. "Because I ordered the one that would get here the fastest. But it will have worn off by morning, I do know that."

Potter stared at him with wild eyes. "Oh, it'll have worn off by morning? Oh, well that makes it _okay_! I don't care that you've _drugged me_ with a potion you know _nothing about_, because, hey! It'll have worn off by morning!"

Draco refused to look down. He shouldn't feel guilty. Potter was the one not cooperating, the one who had spent all day last week _all over_ Draco, kissing him and stroking his hair and _coming _in his _mouth_, and ever since then hadn't even _touched_ him. So, really, Draco was in the right, here.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, immediately wanting to hex himself. "It's sending me mad, you don't know what it's like. Especially after last week, I just… _Merlin, _Potter, I just want you _so much_."

Some Slytherin he was. Not only was he on-his-knees desperate for Harry Potter's cock, but he was also apologising for it. He should be resorted into Hufflepuff. But until then…

"It should be starting soon."

No sooner than the words were out of Draco's mouth, Potter let out a surprised huff and staggered backwards. His eyes widened and he gasped for breath, falling to his knees and clutching at his throat, his glasses tumbling off his face, upset by his scrabbling hands. Draco felt a fleeting moment of panic. What if it had gone wrong? What if he was responsible for _murdering Harry Potter_?

He was about to start forwards, but Potter swayed and fell, catching himself on his hands at the last second and taking deep, gulping breaths. Draco stopped himself from moving closer, simmering with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. This was a delicate stage. The last thing he should to do was interrupt.

Potter seemed to have calmed. Or, at least, he was no longer dragging in oxygen like a half-drowned animal. Merlin, but that had been aggressive. Orexis Votum had been nowhere near as violent (for which he was thankful, don't get him wrong).

"Potter?" he asked tentatively. Potter's head snapped up and Draco's breath caught. Potter's pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked completely black. And he was staring intently at Draco, who had – _Merlin_ – never felt so naked in his life.

Not once taking his eyes off Draco, Potter stood, his movements uncharacteristically smooth, almost snake-like. A sinister smirk curled around his lips.

Draco whimpered involuntarily. Potter's face hadn't changed, per se, but there was an element of something new - an element of _promise_ - etched in every feature, and Draco's body was on fire; his sudden feelings of vulnerability and arousal swirled just under his skin, igniting every part of him. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Ohh, _Draco_," Potter hissed in a low voice that shot straight to Draco's cock. "You are _so_ going to wish you hadn't done that."

Then he pounced.

It took Draco a while to process that the sinful voice was actually trying to _tell_ him something, and by the time he had, the heavy weight of a seventeen-year-old boy had hit him square in the chest, knocking him to the floor.

Winded, he tried to right himself, but found that he couldn't; Potter, his lips parted, eyes intense and lidded, his entire being oozing sexuality, sat astride his thighs. Draco failed to suppress another whimper. "Potter, I—" He reached up to try and touch Potter – to do _anything_ – but before Draco knew it, his arms were stretched above his head, held in place by a fierce grip.

"I want you to call me Harry," Potter murmured in his ear. "Can you do that?"

"Yes!" Draco breathed. "Harry, oh Merlin, _Harry_, _shit, I need…_" Draco thrashed and tugged his arms, but either Potter was a lot stronger than he looked, or this was no ordinary potion.

"Draco?" Harry purred.

"Yes, Harry, _oh I need_—"

Potter's lips brushed Draco's ear, sending sparks around Draco's whole body. "Say you want me," he whispered. "I want you to tell me how much you want me."

The small part of Draco's brain that hadn't turned irrational with lust thought that that was a bit of a stupid request when Draco _quite clearly _wanted Potter rather a lot. But luckily the much larger part was apparently in charge of Draco's mouth. "I do, I want you!" he gasped out. "So much… you know I… Potter—Harry, I can't… _please_!"

Harry flicked out his tongue and licked the rim of Draco's ear. It was absurd that such a small action could send Draco spiralling into new heights of arousal, but Draco felt sure that nobody had ever – _could_ ever – be this turned on and he let out a wild moan. But he needed – _Merlin_, he needed—

Potter kissed him.

Really kissed him. On the lips, his tongue invading Draco, _owning_ Draco, without any effort at all.

And Draco fucking loved it. He arched up into Potter's glorious touch and allowed himself to get completely lost in the utter bliss of being held down and kissed by Harry Potter.

He tried to hook a leg around Potter to bring him closer, to get _more_, but Potter dodged it smoothly. Draco dimly heard him let out a low chuckle, but the kissing didn't stop, and that was all Draco cared about right now. Merlin, yes, the kissing was still going; a filthily slow twining of tongues and undulating of hips that spoke of nothing but pleasurable things to come.

One sharper-than-usual thrust caused Draco's eyes to roll back in his head from pleasure and he bit down hard on Potter's lip. Potter chuckled again and drew back, ignoring Draco's moan of protest.

"Draco," he admonished, sounding completely unaffected by the kiss. "That wasn't very nice."

Draco, who was not nearly so unaffected and was breathing harshly, merely whimpered.

Harry grinned wickedly, dark eyes gleaming. "I shall have to punish you," he purred, and the next thing Draco knew, they were both on the bed, Draco's wrists tied securely to the headboard with a green silk ribbon.

The shock of suddenly finding himself halfway across the room momentarily snapped Draco from his daze. "How—?"

"You tell me, it's your potion," Harry answered, slowly undoing the buttons of Draco's robe. "And god, what a potion, Draco. Did you know that I can almost hear your thoughts? I can tell what you want and I could hold you on the edge of orgasm for hours. I can hear your heartbeat and I can tell that your cock is getting harder with every word I say. I can sense where you most want to be touched, even if you don't know it. I can smell how much you want me and I can only imagine what the rest of your body will taste like.

"I'm so powerful, right now, Draco," Harry continued, his voice low and velvety. "I could destroy this whole school in the blink of an eye, and I could freeze time. I could take on Voldemort and all his followers with my wand arm tied behind my back and I could find the cure to Albanian Dragonpox, but instead all I want to do is stay here and give you the most powerful orgasm of your life. Do you think that's a good idea?"

Shit, one more word from Potter's mouth and Draco was going to come _spectacularly_, whether his trousers were still on or not. Potter's casual display of power had only served to make Draco even harder and he fruitlessly pushed his hips upwards.

Potter's eyes glinted.

"Do you want to come, Draco?" he asked, unlacing Draco's trousers.

Draco made a wordless sound of agreement, not capable of speech just then, _moments_ away from orgasm. Potter's fingers were only one layer of fabric away from his skin. One layer and Harry Potter would be touching his dick. _One layer_…

One layer suddenly became none and Draco threw his head back as his cock was freed from its confinements.

Potter made a choking noise. "You don't wear underwear," he said. Draco wasn't able to reply in any other way than pushing upwards, needing Potter, desperately longing for his touch.

_Fingers._ Oh sweet mother of Merlin, there were _fingers_ trailing down his abdomen – he was _so close_ – Potter was getting nearer – _so close now_…

"You didn't answer my question," Potter whispered. "Do you want to come?"

A deep moan wrenched itself from Draco's throat. "_Yes_ oh Merlin _fuck yes Harry please, fuck_!"

Harry bent his head and his breath fluttered over the head of Draco's _Merlin so fucking close_ erection. "Tough."

There was a pressure, light at first, winding itself around the bottom of Draco's cock. It slid around to encompass Draco's balls and then – fuck – tightened.

Draco yelled in frustration. "Potter _you bastard_! Oh fuck, please! I need you _Merlin I hate you_ oh please let me – I need to—"

"Shh," Potter murmured, his hands _finally_ touching Draco but Draco couldn't come he wanted to so much oh Merlin. "It's okay, Draco, I'll take care of you. I just want a little fun first."

And then Potter's mouth – _shit fuck Potter's mouth_ – was on him and Draco forgot to be angry because nothing mattered, nothing else in the whole damn _world_ mattered except the fact that Harry should _oh fucking Merlin_ keep doing that.

He was drowning in sensation. He didn't know where Potter had learned to do that – because it couldn't possibly be unpractised, _fuck_ – and quite honestly he didn't care as long as he could keep _thrusting _into that hot mouth and feel that tongue – that _fucking_ tongue – drag up and down his cock.

This was torture. There was no other word for it. It was exquisite torture, but torture just the same. Harry could choose to keep him right there, hovering on the edge of release forever, and he would willingly – Merlin, so willingly – stay.

The mouth was removed far too soon and Draco whimpered and opened his eyes. Fuck, but Potter looked beautiful. Crouching over Draco in all his breathtaking glory; wet pink lips, darkened green eyes, gorgeous black hair. Draco needed to touch him, needed to feel him all over, needed to _have_ him.

"Please," he whimpered, unable to do anything but beg. "Oh Merlin, _please_."

Potter stroked a hand down Draco's chest; Draco's skin blazed. "You can trust me, Draco," Harry said softly. "I'm not going to let anybody hurt you. Not ever again."

Words. Draco's lust-addled brain could hardly make sense of them. Why didn't Potter _do_ something? Words didn't mean anything. Words _never_ meant anything. Draco would happily live without words. They were stupid deceitful things that got people's hopes up and made them believe.

Actions, on the other hand, they were okay. They lied too, but they could feel _so good_. Maybe Potter should stop talking and start doing. Draco would really appreciate that. Even if Potter's actions would be lying, that was fine, because Draco _needed_ them, needed them more than anything.

"Please," he repeated faintly. Potter nodded.

The wondrous wet heat surrounded Draco's cock again and Draco was soaring, arching, _needing_, needing _so much_ oh Merlin Potter, _please I need oh fuck need you so much_—

Potter's hand stroked the base of his cock and it was freedom and it was _fuck_ Draco was coming, coming so hard, Potter's mouth still there, swallowing around him, he was shuddering, convulsing, never felt like this before fuck Harry Harry Harry—

It was over. Draco slumped back on the bed, breathing heavily, the ribbon at his wrists holding him up. Potter kissed his way up Draco's exposed stomach until he reached his neck, at which point he bit down hard on the soft flesh. Draco moaned weakly.

"You're mine now, Draco Malfoy," Potter growled.

Draco shivered. "Yours," he agreed mindlessly, tilting his head so Harry had better access. "Oh Merlin, all yours."

"_Yes_," Harry hissed and pushed his still-clad erection against Draco's hip. Draco was already hard again and he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck me," he said.

Potter raised his head, his eyes darkening even further. "I want to," he said, staring hard at Draco. "_Ohh_, I want to."

"_Please_. I need to feel you, let me touch you, _please_."

Potter, for the first time since he'd taken the potion, looked uncertain. "I'll hurt you."

"It doesn't matter," Draco assured, meaning every word.

Potter kissed him then, ardently, deeply, desperately. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise," he murmured between kisses. "_Draco_, you're incredible, god, so beautiful, I'm going to make you feel amazing, I swear, I promise you, so good…"

Potter was true to his word. He had Draco writhing before he'd even taken off his trousers. And when he did – _Merlin_, Draco's mouth watered with the desire to taste him, but Harry was in charge, Harry would take care of him, Draco could just let go, let the potion _consume_ him, allow himself to sail on an endless ocean of _Harry_.

And then Harry entered him and it was everything he wanted and more. It was perfection, _completion_. Harry was _wonderful_ and not even the slow burning ache of being taken could bother Draco because he was being taken by _Harry_ and that made it worth it five times over.

It was a long time before the two of them stopped. After Draco's third orgasm of the night, Harry untied him with a single flick of his finger and Draco fell on him like an animal starved of food.

After it had to be way past midnight, Draco sleepily enquired about Weasley and Granger. Surely they'd be wondering where Harry was? But Harry assured him that Draco was the only thing that mattered just then, and Draco smiled and kissed him.

When they were finally finished, the two of them curled up under the covers, Harry pressed along Draco's back, one protective arm around his stomach.

It was ridiculous, if you thought about it. The son of a Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. And Draco had never felt so content.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Harry didn't want to wake up. He was so warm and comfortable. God, and he was _hard_. Although that wasn't altogether unusual these days.

He must have had a really good dream last night. He felt ridiculously well-rested this morning to say that so often he woke up completely shattered from being awake half the night the day before.

Harry hummed and buried his head in the pillow. His bed really was cosy this morning. Whatever the house-elves did differently, it was very much appreciated.

Mm, even the covers almost radiated heat. He pushed his hips forward a little, trying to get some relief on his aching cock. Oh, _that_ was nice. He did it again. Really very nice _indeed_.

Someone groaned.

Harry froze.

"I wondered when you'd wake up," a dry voice said.

Memories from last night assaulted him in a sudden rush. Draco tied down and whimpering, Harry kissing him, touching him, sucking his cock, oh god. The feelings of absolute power and pure lust and the urge to _protect_ coursing though his blood. The sensation of pushing into a hot, tight hole…

"Oh, _shit_."

"Was it good for you?" Draco mumbled. Harry opened his eyes.

They were in exactly the same position that they had fallen asleep in; Harry's arm wrapped around Draco and his – oh, crap – his cock nestled snugly between Draco's arse cheeks.

"We… we had sex last night, didn't we?"

Harry felt Draco shiver. "Yeah," Draco said hoarsely. "Yeah, we did."

Harry's brain was having trouble processing this information. He cleared his throat. "Did I… I mean, um. Are you okay?"

Draco twisted his head around to stare at him disbelievingly. "That's all you have to say?"

Harry was at a loss. What did Draco want him to say? That it was good? That Harry would probably be wanking five times a day for the rest of his life to the memory of it? That even now he was thinking about it because they were both _naked_ and Draco was _so close_ and Harry could just push _forwards_ and he'd be _inside_ him again?

"Er," he said instead.

Draco snorted and settled back down. "You're unbelievable, Harry Potter. I drug you and practically force you to have sex with me and you want to know if I got _hurt_ by the experience."

Oh. Good point. Of course Harry was angry about that. It was a horrible, unethical, _bastard_ of a thing to do. Not to mention _dangerous_. Draco didn't even know anything about the bloody potion apart from the fact that it would _wear off by morning_.

"You didn't get hurt, though, right?" Harry asked, just to make sure.

"Merlin, no," Draco responded immediately. "It was the best I've ever felt. You're amazing." Harry's face burned. He wished his erection would go away.

"Not so bad yourself," he felt obliged to mumble in return, remembering the delicious way Draco writhed under him and moaned his name. _God_ he was so hard. He resisted the urge to push his hips forward. Maybe he should move. Ron and Hermione would be out of their minds by now. He hoped he'd remembered to pack the Marauder's Map in his schoolbag so they didn't know where he was. Or who he was there with.

He was just bracing himself to get out of the warm bed when Draco threaded their fingers together. "Don't go," he said softly, not looking at Harry.

Harry hesitated. Staying would be a bad idea. It would be a really bad idea and Draco was a bastard and he'd been drugged last night and he should not do it. "But," he said. "The Gryffindors… They'll be wondering where I am."

Draco's hand tightened. "They'll think you've shacked up with your girlfriend, you've got at least until lunchtime."

"What time is it now?" Harry asked. _A really, really bad idea._

"Dunno."

Harry hesitated for a few more seconds before he gave in and relaxed back into the pillow. Draco's hair tickled his face and he nuzzled his nose into the back of Draco's head before he realised just what he was doing.

God, he was so confused. Was he allowed to kiss Draco now? Surely kissing him while they were both _naked_ and in the same bed was okay. But what about when they got up? They'd had _sex_ now. They were definitely past the point of no return; Harry had lost his virginity to Draco last night.

And, for some reason, he wasn't that upset about it. _Why_ wasn't he upset about it?

Maybe some of last night's potion was still in his system. That would explain a lot, actually. Like how he really wanted to move his hand downwards to see if Draco was as hard as Harry was. And how he was fighting the urge to bite Draco's lovely pale shoulder until it turned red and served to remind Draco for days about what they'd done last night.

A low groan interrupted Harry's thoughts. "Merlin, Harry, you're killing me," Draco croaked, and Harry realised that he'd been absently rocking his hips into Draco's lower back. But he didn't stop. It was obviously the after-effects of the potion making him do it, so there was no point even trying to stop.

Instead, Harry indulged himself by trailing his fingers downwards and discovering that, yes, Draco was every bit as turned on as he was. Then – in for a Knut, in for a Galleon – he wrapped his fingers around Draco's cock and squeezed.

"_Fuck yes,_" Draco hissed, pushing into Harry's hand. Harry tightened his grip.

The rush of power he got from this was astonishing. Harry was now convinced that he was still under the influence of the potion, because surely it was not normal to feel this way.

Draco was whimpering, thrusting mindlessly and Harry was breathing hotly into Draco's shoulder, finding it difficult to control himself, never once stopping the movement of his hand. If someone had told him a month ago that one day soon he'd be wanking Draco Malfoy off and nearly coming himself from the mere experience, he would have directed them straight to St Mungo's. But here he was, doing exactly that, feeling the tightening of his balls that meant his orgasm was approaching…

Draco let out a wordless cry and stiffened in Harry's arms, spilling his seed all over Harry's hand. Harry swore and jammed his hips forward, coming hard and sinking his teeth into the skin of Draco's shoulder.

Screw morals; that was worth eternal damnation any day.

Draco rolled over onto his back and pulled Harry with him, dragging him down into a slow kiss. God, but Harry could not bring himself to care that this was _Malfoy_ and that both of them were drugged and out of their minds. As long as their tongues continued to twine leisurely, none of it mattered.

Eventually Draco pulled away, a smile curving his lips and his eyes half-closed. "Best way to wake up ever," he said sleepily. "Although now I want to go back to sleep again."

Harry didn't know how to react. His head was whirling and he could barely keep track of his thoughts.

"We should, uh, probably get up soon."

Draco made a vague noise of agreement and fiddled absently with a lock of Harry's hair. "Did you mean what you said yesterday?" he asked suddenly. "About the potion?"

Harry forced himself to pay attention. "Huh?"

"You said that you were powerful enough to take on the Dark Lord and his army."

"Oh, right." Harry remembered the feeling of absolute control, of perfect confidence that he could do _anything_. "Yeah, it definitely felt like I was," he said. "But, I mean, I doubt it. It was probably just a mental thing, right?"

"I dunno. You either Apparated or stopped time or moved impossibly fast when you moved us to the bed. It's a possibility."

"But even if that's the case, don't you think the fact that I'd ignore Voldemort and shag you instead might be a problem?"

Draco's eyes widened and his eyes slid down to Harry's lips. He cleared his throat. "I have two more bottles of it," he said, not looking up. "We could ask Snape to look at it."

Harry snorted. "I can imagine how that conversation would go. 'Hey, professor, Draco here drugged me last night so I'd shag him, and it worked and he's a fantastic shag, by the way, but the potion made me super powerful so maybe you could try and take out the bit where all I want to do is fuck his brains out? Thanks, sir.'"

Draco's hand tightened in Harry's hair and he exhaled sharply. "You need to stop saying things like that otherwise I am never going to let you leave this bed."

Harry grinned and flopped back on his side. Never leaving the bed wouldn't be a punishment; it really was comfortable. The naked Slytherin had nothing to do with it.

It was at least another hour before the two of them finally left the Room of Requirement. _Not_ because they were having sex. They weren't. They didn't even kiss. And any touching there may have been was – was purely accidental. And platonic. On Harry's part, anyway.

Eventually they made it out of bed and headed to the dungeons. Things were going pretty well, Harry thought. Besides the fact that he was obviously still under the influence of last night's potion. But at least once they'd been to Snape he'd be able to go back to Gryffindor tower. Why, if he was lucky, Ron and Hermione might not even know that he'd ever been—

"Harry? Where have you been, mate? And – what are you doing with _Malfoy_?"

—gone

Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione hurrying towards them. "I, er…" he said intelligently.

"We assumed you'd be with your girlfriend," Hermione said, looking him up and down and pursing her lips.

"I was, yeah!" Harry assured them. "And now, uh, Malfoy and I are going… um…"

"Hurry the fuck up, Potter, I don't have all day. Are you going to take this up with Snape or not?"

Harry started to hear Draco's sneering drawl and spun around. It was strange how quickly he'd got used to his voice without it, his face without the disparaging smirk that was currently twisting his features.

"Oh, hello Weasley," Draco – god, no this was _Malfoy_ – said in the manner of greeting a slug. "Granger."

"Malfoy," Hermione returned, her eyes narrowing. Ron just scowled.

"Well, come on then, Potter," Malfoy said lazily, walking away from them. "I want to see your face when Snape tells you that just because you're a team captain, you don't happen to own the _entire_ Quidditch pitch. I imagine it'll come as a shock to you…"

Harry shrugged at his friends and hurried after Malfoy. "I wonder if anyone is ever going to tell you, Malfoy, that just because you have money, you don't happen to be better than the rest of us," he snapped, doing his best to sound angry. Malfoy smirked and retorted with a biting insult. Just like old times.

They ducked into an empty classroom as soon as they were out of earshot of Ron and Hermione.

Harry rested his back on the door and let out a sigh of relief. "Shit, that was close," he breathed.

Draco laughed. "You are useless in a crisis, Potter. Some saviour."

"Hey, I agree with you. The wizarding world would go to shit if it was all down to me, I'm hopeless."

Draco rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're not so bad," he said softly, and leaned forwards.

Harry closed his eyes, told himself once more that the potion was definitely still in his bloodstream, and kissed back.

***

Draco navigated the dungeons like he lived in them (which, Harry reminded himself, he kind of did) and they reached the door to the Potions master's office in hardly any time at all. There was a brief and silent argument over who had to be the one to knock on the door, which Harry won by mouthing, 'You _drugged_ me!' – something which, unexpectedly, caused Draco to wince.

"Enter," a voice drawled, after Draco had rapped on the door. They pushed it open together.

Snape looked surprised to see them. "Is there a problem?"

"Not exactly," Draco said, closing the door behind them. Harry once again contemplated how he'd managed to get himself shut in a room with two Slytherins.

"You see, Professor," Draco began; Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, terribly glad that it was not down to him to explain their situation. "I sort of ordered a, uh, a lust potion and gave it to Potter. But it turns out it wasn't like my one, it made him really powerful. Like, really properly powerful. He didn't need a wand or incantations or anything. And I thought that, what with the Dark Lord and everything, if we can get rid of the – the lust-inducing aspect, it… could be useful."

Snape mutely held out a hand and Draco pulled out a small pink bottle from a pocket of his robes and handed it to him.

Snape held the bottle up to the light and peered at it. "Was this really necessary?" he drawled.

Draco flushed. "He would never kiss me back."

Snape raised an eyebrow and stared at Draco and Draco lifted his chin and stared back defiantly, a pink tinge staining his cheeks. Harry looked back and forth between them, completely bewildered by the silent communication. Must be a Slytherin thing.

Snape was the first one to break the stare. Looking coldly over at Harry, he said, "Potter, please describe, in detail, what feelings you experienced while under the influence of this potion."

"Uh, how much detail?" Harry would really rather not tell Snape about how much he had wanted to hold Draco down and kiss him and lick him and fuck him and _own_ him, thank you very much.

Snape stared him down. "As much as you can give. Any detail may assist with the isolation of a particular property."

"Right," Harry said faintly, distinctly uncomfortable. "Um. Well, it took a few minutes to kick in after I drank it—"

"How much did you ingest?"

"Only a mouthful. He told me it was water."

Snape and Draco exchanged a glance, probably laughing to themselves at how stupid Harry was to trust a Slytherin. Harry happened to agree. "Continue," Snape said curtly.

"Right. Uh, well it felt for a while like I couldn't breathe, and then I got really dizzy and sort of – fell over." He carried on, ignoring, Snape's smirk. "And then everything became really clear all of a sudden. Like, I didn't need my glasses to see any more, but it was more than that. I could feel everything. Every single person in the castle and, it sounds stupid, I know, but even the castle itself.

"And it was like… I couldn't read minds, exactly, it wasn't Legilimency or anything, but I _knew_ exactly what Draco was thinking and what he wanted. And…" He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and shuffled his feel uncomfortably. "All I could think about was that I wanted to make Draco feel good. Like, you know. _Really_ good. It was as if… although I was aware of everyone else, they didn't matter at all. The most important thing in the world was – was Draco."

Snape didn't seem to have been affected by the information that his favourite pupil had been made to feel "_really good_" by Harry. "Draco said you exhibited great power," he prompted.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We, uh. We were both sort of, um, onthefloor and then I just remember thinking that it'd be a good idea to move to – to the bed, and then next thing I know we were there."

"It wasn't just Apparition, either, sir," Draco cut in. "He'd managed to conjure a ribbon and tie me to the headboard in less than a second."

Snape's nostrils flared. "Indeed."

God, Harry's face felt like it was on fire. Trust his luck; as soon as he managed to acquire a sex life, he had to relay it to Snape in great detail. One day, Harry mused, something in his life would go right. The shock would probably kill him.

"Any other instances?"

Yeah, Harry had managed to make some sort of cock ring out of nothing but pure magic and had stopped Draco from coming while Harry had been sucking his cock to the root for over twenty minutes. "Not really," he said.

Snape's cold black gaze swept over him and Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably, trying to force his mind to be _blank_.

"Very well," Snape said after a while. "I'll investigate the possibilities. Don't get your hopes up; this kind of work is extremely complicated and will require weeks of intense study."

"We understand, sir," Draco said. "It was just a thought."

"A halfway intelligent one, too," Snape remarked. "I assume it was you and not Potter that came up with this brilliant idea, Mr Malfoy?"

The shadow of Malfoy's old smirk flashed across his face. "It was, actually, sir."

Snape smirked in return. "Ten points to Slytherin for showing initiative, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes.

***

Draco decided that both of them needed to spend more time with their housemates to avoid suspicion, and so it was that Harry spent his first afternoon in weeks with the other Gryffindors. He hadn't realised until then just how much he'd missed them; he even listened to Ron and Hermione's bickering with a small smile on his face, feeling wonderfully at home.

He also took the opportunity to catch up on his homework and by the end of the day he was only two essays away from being completely on top. He hadn't been that organised in _weeks_. It was so _liberating_.

He went to bed late, staying awake to laugh and joke with the other Gryffindors, and slept until lunchtime. By early afternoon he and Draco were in the Room of Requirement, locked in a heated embrace. The potion was probably still lingering, Harry thought, his hand sliding up Draco's shirt. Magical substances rarely did what they were supposed to.

That afternoon Harry finished one of his essays and made a good start on the other, and went to bed at the semi-respectable time of half eleven. Lust potions aside, Harry thought happily as he drifted off to sleep, it hadn't been a bad weekend.

***

Harry and Draco ended up sleeping in the Room of Requirement again several times that week, and subsequently ended up not sleeping much at all. They didn't have sex again, but they did – stuff. Harry's potion was just really... lasting. That's all. It'd be gone in a few days.

By halfway through the week, though, Harry's tiredness levels had risen again, and he ended up paying very little attention during his lessons.

In fact, in Potions, he was so distracted that he barely even noticed Neville knocking over a cauldron in the corner of the room about half way through the lesson, and Snape's subsequent fifty points from Gryffindor. He didn't even go over to comfort Neville when Snape gave him three months' worth of detentions.

It was a bit of an overreaction on Snape's part, anyway, especially as it was a stupid place to put a cauldron. Obviously Snape was just being his usual spiteful self; what potion could be worth… three… oh god.

The bottom of Harry's stomach vanished. His head snapped up from where it had been resting on his arms, and he looked wildly over at the upturned cauldron. Harry had a terrible feeling that he knew what the potion had been.

He flicked his head back around. Snape was leaning over Draco and murmuring something. Draco's face had lost all colour. _Shit shit shit_.

"I'll kill him," Draco growled and stood up, his bench scraping the floor. Harry was across the classroom in a heartbeat.

"Malfoy, calm down," he urged through his teeth, stepping in front of Draco.

"_Get out of the bloody way, Potter,"_ Draco snarled, going for his wand. "We'll see just how much of a _fucking bumbling fool_ he is when his _head_ is no longer attached to his _fucking blood traitor _body."

The buzz of noise in the room died down as the rest of the class started to pay attention to the confrontation. Harry didn't care.

"Malfoy, just think where you are," Harry warned. "You don't want to make a scene." More of one than you already have, at any rate. Come _on_, Draco, get your head in gear!

"I want to fucking rip him _limb from limb_ and I don't _care_ who's watching," Malfoy insisted, trying to shove Harry out of the way.

Harry stood his ground. "What do you care about one stupid cauldron?" he asked meaningfully. "Give Neville a break, will you?"

"That _one stupid cauldron—_" Draco began angrily. "Was… was… was nothing to me. Longbottom is just a fucking irritating piece of shit."

Relief flooded Harry's body. "Get out of your own arse, why don't you, Malfoy?" he said lightly. Draco glared at a terrified Neville for several long moments, then spat on the floor and stormed out of the classroom. Harry exhaled slowly and went back to his desk.

"What was all that about?" Ron hissed, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Just Malfoy being a prat," Harry said offhandedly, dumping a random ingredient into his gloopy potion and watching it turn a sick-coloured yellow. "Although, Neville, I'd watch out if I were you. He seems to be in a mood with you for some reason."

Neville, who was being comforted by Hermione, squeaked.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Bloody typical. Everything seemed to have been going well for Draco for three wonderful, blissful days, and then it all went and got ruined. Ruined by an _idiot _who was not worthy to call himself a pureblood. For Merlin's sake, Longbottom was practically a bloody squib!

A whole other month. A _month_! It still hadn't really sunk in. After he'd successfully destroyed his dormitory, stormed up to the Room of Requirement and destroyed that too, his crazed rage had finally faded. It was lucky he hadn't run into Zabini or Longbottom, otherwise it was very likely he'd have blood on his hands.

Now, cold logic was beginning to settle. Draco always enjoyed this part of his fury. It meant that someone was going to _suffer_.

He'd have to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, obviously. Being away from Potter for two weeks was unthinkable. Merlin knew what he was going to tell his parents. He'd only stayed at school over the Christmas holidays once; in second year. And that was only because he was determined to find out who the heir of Slytherin was.

He had ended up spending the majority of Christmas alone that year, too. It was before Pansy stopped being a creepy stalker, and Crabbe and Goyle had eaten themselves even stupider than usual and wound up rushing to the hospital wing. Ever since then, Draco had gone back to Malfoy Manor for Christmas so he could be fawned over properly.

Christmas alone with Potter was a miserable concept, even if Draco didn't find him _that_ insufferable any more. It was still _Potter_. And now Draco had to spend another month in his almost-continuous company. What utter _bollocks_.

He flopped backwards onto the bed. He'd just have to take charge of the situation, that's all. Find a way to work it to his advantage. It was difficult right now to see a good side to the situation, but he was a _Slytherin, _wasn't he? He could manipulate _anything_ to suit his needs, he was brilliant at it. So, all he needed to do was _think_.

Two hours later and the most he'd been able to come up with is '_I get to have a sex life for an extra three weeks_'. Which, actually, wasn't that terrible of a silver lining. Even if he'd gladly forgo the frequent orgasms to be rid of the bloody potion once and for all.

Determined to do his best to regain power in his life, Draco stood up and headed for the desk near the window, which he had unofficially claimed as his own. First of all, he'd write to his parents and tell them that he wouldn't be joining them for Christmas. They were bound to owl back and demand to know why, but he could deal with that. It would hardly be the first time he had lied to his mother and father, after all.

Then, he'd… well, he'd probably just continue as he had been. When you _really_ thought about it, it was just a mild inconvenience. It wasn't as if anybody _knew_ about them, save Pansy, and she'd be so delighted that Draco was actually _in_ a relationship (with a boy, no less) that she'd keep quiet about it. Probably.

Not that Draco was in a relationship with Potter. Pansy just _thought_ he was. Just so he was being clear.

That decided, Draco fished out some decent-quality parchment and ink and settled down to write.

He felt the tingling sense of Potter's presence before the door to the Room even opened and he swore.

"Just a minute," he said as soon as Harry walked in. "Let me finish this."

He felt Harry approach his chair and forced his mind to concentrate. … _focus on my studies to prepare for the approaching NEWTS; I am sure you will understand…_

Harry, to his credit, said nothing, but did make a nuisance of himself by rooting around the desk and reading bits of Draco's homework and various notes he'd written.

… _your son, Draco_.

"Done!" Draco crowed triumphantly and set the letter aside for the ink to dry.

"I thought you were left-handed," Potter commented lightly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I am," he assured, holding up his ink-stained left hand to prove it. "But my mother taught me how to write, and she insisted it wasn't proper to use one's left hand for anything other than wand work. So this hand is my 'writing to my parents' hand, 'cause my writing is neater with my right."

Harry glanced back down at the scribbles covering the parchment littering the desk. "… Are you sure you're not actually right-handed?"

Draco looked at his notes, too. Okay, his handwriting wasn't perfect in his left, but it was _legible_. Ish. "Of course I'm sure," he replied haughtily. "It's more comfortable writing with your left hand. I don't know how you righties can cope holding a quill for so long, it's a right pain."

Harry shook his head, but appeared to give in. "You're so weird, Malfoy," he said.

Draco grinned. "Says the survivor of Avada Kedavra," he retorted. Harry's mouth twisted into a not-quite smile.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

Draco considered the question, contemplating the seven ways to kill Longbottom slowly and painfully that he'd thought up. "I'm okay," he said finally. "I wouldn't let me loose near Longbottom for a while, though. How about you?"

Potter blinked. "Me?"

"Well, yeah, you're affected by this just as much as I am. If not more, right?"

"Right, yeah," Harry said, clearing his throat. "Yeah, no, we'll get through it. It hasn't been that bad so far, has it? It's just the same amount of time that we've already done. Should be a breeze."

Draco was amazed at the lengths to which Potter would go to be noble. At least when Draco kissed Potter, he had the potion to make him feel good (really good, but that was beside the point). In Harry's case, he was just doing it to be a good guy. Yeah, he occasionally got off, but knowing Potter he was doing _that_ on purpose to make Draco feel better. Bloody Gryffindors.

"You are staying for the Christmas holidays, right?" Draco demanded.

"I wasn't going to, but yeah, of course I will," Harry said, fiddling with a bit of parchment. "What about the other Slytherins? Parkinson, is she staying too?"

Draco shook his head, eyes fixed on the way Harry's fingers stroked the edge of the scrap. Up… and down. Up… "Not if the previous six years are anything to go by. She always goes with her mother to France or Italy or somewhere like that, I can't remember exactly. But, yeah, she never stays here. Crabbe and Goyle probably would, if I asked them to, but it'll probably be less of a pain if they leave. What about you?"

"Ron and Hermione'll be staying at the Weasleys', probably," Harry said, his mouth twisting glumly. "They'll probably want to stay here when I tell them I am, but I'm getting really fed up of lying to them all the time. I'll make sure they're out of the way, don't worry."

***

Friday rolled around and saw the rest of the school going home to their parents' or friends' houses, Pansy leaving with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and a knowing smirk. The almost-empty castle unnerved Draco a bit; he was used to having to sneak around and avoid people, but now he could pretty much do what he liked. He saw why some people preferred to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas.

He and Harry had taken to both sleeping in the Room of Requirement, neither one of them fancying staying in empty dormitories. Of course, they had to make frequent trips back to their common rooms for clothes (and also so the few students who were staying in the castle over the holidays didn't notice that something was up), but all in all both of them practically lived in the Room.

It was the Tuesday morning after they'd broken up – the day before Christmas Eve (and exactly a week since that oaf Longbottom had ruined Draco's Christmas, meaning that without him, Draco would be completely free of the potion by now) – and, after an exhausting night, Draco had collapsed on the bed and fallen straight to sleep. He woke up around ten hours later to a truly heavenly scent.

He forced his eyes open and groggily took in the sight of Harry, fully dressed, holding out a mug of steaming coffee.

"Sweet Merlin, Potter, I knew there must have been a reason why I got landed with you," he said gratefully, struggling out from under the quilt and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Oh, this potion thing isn't so bad after all."

Harry grinned. "Two sugars, right?"

Draco wrapped his hands around the mug and inhaled deeply. "Oh, Merlin, yes," he moaned and took a sip. He could almost feel the caffeine and warmth spreading out all around his body. "_Ohh_ it's so good."

"Steady on," Harry said. "I might start to think I've done something right, for once." Draco absently flicked him the Vs, too absorbed in his coffee to care about Potter's defective sense of humour. Yes, this really wasn't that bad at all. If Potter kept this up, he might even consider forgiving Longbottom, the bumbling fool.

Christmas Eve passed fairly uneventfully, and Christmas morning dawned on Hogwarts to see Draco – who had never really grown out of this particular habit – awake at six o'clock (an ungodly hour on any other day), rifling through the presents at the bottom of the bed, and trying not to disturb Harry, who was sleeping peacefully next to him.

Resisting the urge to just unwrap them all right then, Draco sorted the gifts neatly into two piles – Harry's (which was horrendously small, in comparison) and his own. Then, he split his gifts into two; family, and friends.

There was one gift that didn't fit in either pile, though; Draco, who hadn't even considered getting Potter anything, was surprised to find a (shockingly neatly-wrapped) present with a tag that read 'Merry Christmas! -HP'. And unless Draco knew someone else with the initials HP…

He tore open the wrapping paper, ignoring all the other gifts. It was a tiny bottle with another note attached that read: "_Just something that I saw last weekend and made me think of you. It's everlasting, too, so if you don't break it or lose it or anything, you're sorted for life. But then again, I've seen the state of your wardrobe. Good luck with that. -H_"

Immensely curious, Draco picked up the bottle and examined it closely, then laughed. Potter had given him smudge-resistant ink. The adorable, sentimental git.

Harry made a snuffling noise beside him, probably disturbed by Draco's laugh, and Draco smirked. He'd just have to thank Harry properly, wouldn't he?

He placed the bottle carefully on the bedside table, and, ignoring the rest of his presents, crawled beneath the covers to express his deepest gratitude.

***

"I'm so _bored_ cooped up in the castle!" Draco burst out one morning a few days after Christmas, after they'd made it through most of the festivities Dumbledore insisted on putting on. "I think I'll go into Hogsmeade today."

Harry looked a little put out. "Um, okay. I could try and do some homework while you're gone, I guess."

"Don't be an idiot, I want you with me," Draco said, waving a hand. Maybe they could buy Potter some traditional wizard's clothes. Anything was better than the tatty shirts he wore (although Draco wasn't all that opposed to the fitted Muggle trousers).

"I don't really think Hogsmeade is ready to see you and me getting along," Harry said slowly. "And by 'getting along' I of course mean snogging, which will inevitably happen."

"Mm," Draco agreed. Snogging in Hogsmeade. That would be fun too. They could get their own little booth in the Three Broomsticks and… he shook his head. "No. _Obviously_ that would not be a good idea," he said disdainfully.

Harry looked confused. "Then what…?" he asked. "I mean, I have my invisibility cloak, I guess."

"Harry," Draco said disbelievingly. "Sometimes I think you act this stupid just to spite me." Harry looked at him blankly. Draco sighed and resigned himself to detailing his plan as if to a four year old. Or to a Gryffindor.

"Boot and Goldstein are both staying in the castle for Christmas," he explained.

Harry stared at him. "So?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "_So,_ we can nick some Polyjuice potion and go to Hogsmeade looking like them! Then we're free to do as we like, snogging and all!" He looked over at Harry triumphantly. Harry, however, still looked confused.

"Don't you think it's a bit mean to have people spread rumours about them? I mean, chances are that someone will start talking about it if they – I mean, we – start kissing right in front of everyone."

Oh, nobody could possibly be that obtuse. Really. "Potter, they're dating. Have been for over a year."

Harry's eyes widened comically. "Goldstein and—_Anthony_ _Goldstein_ and _Terry Boot_?"

"The very same," Draco drawled. "So we just nick a bit of their hair, grab some of Snape's spare Polyjuice and away we go!"

Harry thought for a moment. "Okay," he said hesitantly. "But only if I can make one or two changes to the plan."

Harry – bloody _honesty_, Draco was sick of it – insisted that he explain the situation to the Ravenclaws rather than knocking them out and stealing their hair. Draco reluctantly agreed that this made sense; if Boot and Goldstein promised to stay out of the way for the duration of the day, there was less chance of their plan being found out.

Of course, just telling somebody else that Harry's girlfriend wasn't actually a girl was a risk, even if he didn't give away Draco's actual identity. It meant that at least two people were concentrating their attentions on Harry's interaction with other boys, and seeing as Draco was the person Harry was spending most of his free time with…

Well. You hardly needed to be a Ravenclaw to work it out.

Nonetheless, the plan went ahead and by noon, Harry had procured two strands of hair and a promise from the Ravenclaws to stay in their dorm for a few hours (although Draco imagined they hardly saw that as a hardship). Draco already had two spare bottles of Polyjuice potion from the time they took Harry's lust potion to Snape (they were just _lying around_, how could he resist?) and so right after lunch, they were ready to set off.

First, though, they had to actually drink the potion.

It was a horrible experience. Draco had only taken Polyjuice potion once, last year, and even though Goldstein tasted a damn sight nicer than Snape had (long story), the sensation of his flesh melting and reshaping itself was not a pleasant one.

When the transformation was finally over, Draco made a discovery: apparently Orexis Votum wasn't fooled by Polyjuice potion; it was bizarre to look at Terry Boot's face and feel the familiar frisson of desire shoot up and down his body.

Draco reached out a hand and ran his fingers down Potter's new arm. Ohh, yes, the potion was still very much active.

Harry looked at him in amazement. "This is weird," he said, echoing Draco's thoughts. "Although I do enjoy being taller than you."

Draco pouted. "Only a little bit," he said. "And by the end of the day, you'll be back to your midget self and I'll be towering over you in my proper place once again."

"You do not _tower_ over me!" Harry spluttered. "You're barely even an _inch_—"

Draco grinned and dragged him into a kiss. It was definitely odd to be kissing someone taller than him. He supposed he could live with it, though, for the thrill of being out in the village and snogging the Boy Who Lived in front of everyone. And, Merlin, it still felt _so good_.

"Mrm, we're gonna have to stop," Harry said against his mouth. "I'd rather not be walking around Hogsmeade with a hard-on, thanks."

"We'll take care of it before we go," Draco murmured, his blood warming at the very thought.

Harry determinedly pulled away. "I am not touching Anthony Goldstein's cock," he said, grimacing.

"I could suck—"

"No," Harry said firmly, and Draco gave up.

"Fine," he said, and ran a hand through his new darker and fluffier hair. "I bet you taste better as yourself anyway. I've seen what Boot thinks counts for food and it does not bode well. I swear he has some form of seafood for every single meal."

***

Draco was amazed at how much he enjoyed being able to touch Harry whenever he wanted while they were in Hogsmeade. Before then, his life had had a clear divide: inside the Room of Requirement (where he was allowed to relax and snog Potter until his heart's content) and _out_side the Room of Requirement (where he was decidedly not).

But now, the divide was non-existent. He was able to joke about with Harry, throw playful snowballs at him, get distracted by the gleam in his eyes and wrap his arms around him and _kiss_ him, all in full view of the residents of Hogsmeade.

And none of them seemed to mind! At least three old witches passed them and clucked approvingly, which Draco was _certain_ they would not do if they knew just what was going through his mind whenever he touched Harry.

It was after the fourth time that they'd heard someone talking about the charming nature of young love that Harry broke away from him and dragged him into a nearby alleyway, eyes sparkling. Draco looked at him questioningly.

"I feel dirty with them watching," Harry explained, his face flushed from the cold and a happy smile on his (Boot's) face. "It was bad enough with Parkinson; _they_'re old enough to be my great-grandmother."

And he captured Draco's mouth again.

Draco had to admit: it was a lot easier to get lost in the kiss without having to listen to the gossips of Hogsmeade commenting on how cute they were. He pulled Harry closer and allowed tendrils of desire to envelop him. Merlin, but even though his face and hair and body were all wrong, it was still _Harry_ kissing him.

It was all playful tongues and a stubborn refusal to give in and a _fierce_ determination to make Draco feel good and sweet Merlin it was working. Draco could do nothing but clutch onto Potter's shoulders with gloved hands and try not to melt into the wall while Harry seemed to be doing his level best to make it happen.

Harry let out a low growl and Draco couldn't help whimpering in return. He cursed his winter clothing for making rubbing himself off on Harry's leg very difficult, but fuck if he wasn't going to give it a shot anyway.

An itching sensation began at the base of his spine. He ignored it at first, far too lost in Harry to care about a bloody _itch_, but it grew worse, spreading all over his body until he had to break the kiss and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. He heard a sharp intake of breath somewhere vaguely above him but didn't really care about anything other than the knives stabbing him open; _Merlin _this hurt.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped, and Draco looked up.

_Oh, fuck_, but there was Harry. His Harry, with the scar and the atrocious hair and the green eyes currently squinting without their glasses.

Not even giving Harry time to speak, Draco kissed him, hard, so ridiculously pleased to taste _Harry_'s mouth rather than Terry Boot's (and not just because of the fishy tang). Oh, and he was the perfect height for Draco to clutch at his hair and deepen the kiss until he was aware of nothing at all but _Harry_, _Merlin_, Harry who was moaning quietly into Draco's mouth and Draco yanked Harry's arse closer and _thrust_ and shit that felt good and he did it again and again and again and fuck Harry's mouth tasted amazing and his hips were still _thrusting_ and Merlin this was so _right_ and Draco let out a muffled yell and buried his face in Harry's shoulder and came hard.

He finally came back to himself to realise that Harry was absently stroking his hair, his hips rocking minutely.

"Did you not…?"

"No," Harry answered a little breathlessly. "But it's fine, I'll wait until we get back—"

"Like hell you will," Draco growled and spun them around. "I may not be allowed to give Terry Boot's dick a blowjob, but you just try and stop me from doing it to yours."

He had Potter's trousers open in less than five seconds (he was getting quite good at working zips now, although who in their right mind would put their cock next to a row of _metal teeth_?) and swallowed Harry to the root. Harry let out a deep moan and slid his hand into Draco's hair, fingers tightening as his head fell back and his mouth panted out gasps that were visible in the cold air. It was rushed – wet and messy – but it wasn't long before Harry was tugging at his hair, a warning, "Draco, god, I'm—" and Draco was swallowing greedily, his mouth full and his eyes fixed on Harry, beautiful Harry, who was arching beautifully, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open in a silent shout.

It was quiet in the alleyway, their heavy breathing the only sound.

"That was – that was risky," Harry panted, his head still tilted back to rest against the wall.

"No one will have seen," Draco said quietly, tucking Harry back in (but leaving his jeans open; he wasn't _that_ good with zips yet). "We have more Polyjuice with us, right?"

Harry nodded and, visibly pulling himself together, removed the two bottles of Polyjuice from his bag. "Enough for about another four hours, I think, if we're careful."

"We'll be careful," Draco assured, and the two of them downed the potions quickly, wincing as their bodies changed for the third time that day.

***

The holidays were over far too quickly, in Draco's opinion. It seemed like he had only just stayed awake until midnight in order to kiss Harry as soon as the New Year rolled in when the castle was teeming with life again, lessons recommenced, and Draco and Harry had to go back to lying to their friends and sneaking around after hours and not waking up next to each other.

They'd only had a few days of this when Draco was already sick of it. But, thanks to their two-week break, they didn't have that long left until the new antidote was ready. That was, of course, as long as Longbottom stayed well away from the cauldron.

Cheered by this thought, he caught Harry's eye from across the Great Hall and grinned. Harry grinned back and nodded questioningly towards the door. Who was Draco to refuse such an invitation?

Making his excuses to the Slytherins (who by now didn't care where he kept disappearing off to), he joined Harry in the Entrance Hall and the two of them made their way up to the seventh floor through the empty castle, chatting idly about the latest gossip (it was Draco's new goal to get Harry up-to-date on school news; one day he'd even teach Harry the names of everybody in their year), until they came across an unexpected obstruction.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, Snape at his side looking grim. "I'd like a word with you in my office. Immediately."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

A thousand thoughts rushed through Harry's head. Someone had seen them, someone knew. Snape had told Dumbledore everything. The Christmas dinner had been laced with a time-sensitive poison and they could all turn blue at any moment.

"What's going on?" he asked, his eyes darting between the two teachers. "Has something happened?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I would prefer to tell you the details in my office, Harry, if you would be so kind. Mr Malfoy, I advise you to go to your dormitory and remain there for the rest of the evening."

Harry blinked. Did this mean that the news had nothing to do with Draco? Or was Dumbledore going to punish them one at a time? He dimly noted that Draco's fingers were clutching tightly to the sleeve of Harry's robe.

"Sir—"

"Headmaster, I think it would be wise if Mr Malfoy were to accompany us. He and Potter have some… unfinished business. Potter's welfare is currently very much Draco's concern," Snape murmured in Dumbledore's ear.

Dumbledore's searching gaze swept over them, brushing over Snape's respectfully bowed head, Draco's worried-but-defiant expression. He nodded. "Very well. Draco, you may join us, although I must express my disapproval. I would much rather such grave news not fall on two sets of innocent ears; one is quite bad enough."

"I'm coming," Draco said firmly. Harry didn't think Draco realised that he had yet to let go of Harry's sleeve.

The four of them walked swiftly to Dumbledore's office in silence, Harry's mind reeling with possibilities. Dumbledore had said 'grave news'. And if it wasn't related to him and Draco… was someone in trouble? One of his friends? But they were all downstairs in the Great Hall, he'd seen them not five minutes ago, so what…?

"As you may or may not know," Dumbledore said solemnly once they had taken their seats, "I have various sources of intelligence keeping watch on known Death Eaters and their activities. This morning, several of them contacted me with the same message. I have attempted to confirm that a well-executed deception was not afoot, but alas, it seems not to be the case, no matter how much I wish it were so."

"Oh, get to it," Snape snapped, standing beside Dumbledore's chair, having refused to sit down.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Very well," he said. "Harry, Voldemort is on his way."

The breath in Harry's lungs whooshed out of him all at once. He'd never even thought to consider – what with school and Draco, Voldemort had been pushed to the back of his mind, and now Dumbledore was saying… they hadn't had any indication at all, no mysterious warnings, no deaths, surely they should have _known_—

Dumbledore continued. "He has been steadily growing more powerful in recent months and we now believe he plans to take the castle. As for its residents – well. Suffice to say, Harry, that a great number of lives will depend on you. You have been training for this moment. It is time."

Training? He'd had two meetings with Dumbledore in the past month; in both of them he had achieved nothing more than a few lost duels and hours of fruitless research.

God, this was it. He was actually going to face down Voldemort.

"Rubbish!" Draco burst out. Harry's eyes snapped towards him in shock. "Look, I'm sorry, Professor, but surely you have a means of defending the castle so he can't attack?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Certainly. But the defences cannot hold forever, and I fear that Voldemort will not give up easily."

"So sending _Potter_ out to fight him is the best plan you have?"

"Mr Malfoy!" Snape barked, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I understand your concern, but there are far greater powers of my own dictating these events. There is a prophecy—"

"A prophecy," Draco said flatly. "You're basing this on a prophecy." He shook his head. "Professor Snape, what about that potion we gave you?" Harry watched blankly as Draco's fingers clenched on the arms of his chair. "Did you manage to – to isolate the unwanted elements?"

Snape bowed his head and Harry figured he should probably feel more upset. But what was the point? He was going to die. It was all over.

"Okay," he said hoarsely. "I – I guess I'll, uh. Get ready." He stood up.

"Professor, _do something_!" Draco shouted, standing up too. "You can't let him – this is a load of – he's _seventeen years old_."

"I am well aware of how young Harry is," Dumbledore said severely. "What we are dealing with are the workings of fate. This is something with which I cannot interfere."

"_Bollocks_!"

"Please mind your language, Mr Malfoy. Even in the darkest of situations, we must remember our manners, else where would we be?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps sending a _teenage boy_ up against _the world's most powerful dark wizard_," Draco snapped. Harry noticed the lack of twinkle in Dumbledore's eye and put his hand on Draco's arm.

"Draco, it's okay," he said, trying to be comforting. "You – you'll be fine without me for a week. I mean, you said yourself that it's easier when I'm not around. I'm sure Snape has something that'll lessen the effects."

"I don't care about the _fucking potion_, Potter! How can you just stand there and _accept this_?"

Harry shrugged. He had recognised a long time ago that his death by Voldemort's hand was inevitable. It was just a shame that Draco would have to suffer because of it.

"Fucking Gryffindors!" Draco exclaimed. Dumbledore didn't even bother to correct him, just regarded him sadly. Draco ignored this and started to pace around the office.

"Deal with what we have," he muttered to himself. "What do we have? Think like a Slytherin, get your brain in gear, come on, fucking hell. Teachers, ghosts, house-elves, portraits, poltergeist, charms, transfigurations, potions. Potions. This mess is all down to potions. These fucking shitty bollocking _lust potions—_Professor!" Draco snapped his head up and looked intensely at Snape. "What are the chances that Potter will be able to control himself under that potion we gave you?"

Snape straightened. "Only Potter could say that," he said slowly. "But the sample you gave me has been altered, it is unsafe to ingest."

Draco waved a hand impatiently. "I have another bottle," he said. "Harry? What do you think?"

Harry stared at Draco. The thought of a week without Harry must have been horrible for Draco to be putting in so much thought about this. "I could try it," he said. "Given what's at stake, here, I reckon I should be able to stop myself from… well." He cast an embarrassed look at Dumbledore, whose twinkle had tentatively returned.

"I think that's an admirable idea," Dumbledore affirmed. "Anything that might assist in your quest, Harry."

Harry snorted. His quest, indeed. Bloody prophecy. Although the mysterious power-inducing lust potion of Draco's definitely counted under the heading of "power the Dark Lord knows not", he supposed…

"In that case," Snape said sharply. "Draco, fetch the bottle of the potion and bring it to my office. I shall verify that it is of acceptable quality before Potter drinks it; I hardly think that a dead hero can do much good against the forces of the Dark Lord. Potter, with me."

***

The wait for Draco in Snape's office was awkward. Never mind that Voldemort was going to arrive at Hogwarts any minute, what if Harry couldn't control himself under the potion? What if he started _touching_ Draco, right there in front of all the teachers?

Harry cast a nervous glance towards Snape in case Snape could read his thoughts on his face (or through Legilimency – Harry wouldn't put it past him), but Snape was stooped over a cauldron, ignoring Harry's presence. Good. That left Harry to worry to himself without being disturbed by Snape's customary sarcastic remarks. Just how he liked it.

Five minutes' worrying later and the door burst open.

"I've got it," Draco panted, clearly having run all the way here. "Nott was in the room, saw me getting it, that's why I was so slow."

"No matter," Snape said, and held out a hand. "This shouldn't take long."

Draco handed the bottle over and stood back, next to Harry. They exchanged nervous smiles and Harry had the crazy urge to grab Draco's hand, which he resisted, of course. It was just end-of-the-world madness overtaking his brain for a moment.

Harry shook his head and focused his attention back on the Potions master.

Snape extracted a tiny drop of potion from the bottle with his wand and peered at it. "It seems to be…" he muttered to himself, seemingly oblivious to the two boys watching him with baited breath. "However." He flicked his wand and the drop of potion splashed into the cauldron, which fizzed and turned light blue.

"It is satisfactory," Snape said out loud, straightening. "Although extremely powerful. I wish you luck in controlling it, Potter." Harry gulped. Things must be serious if Snape was wishing him _luck_.

"I will leave the room when you take it," Snape continued, and Harry agreed wholeheartedly. The last thing he needed right now was an overwhelming desire for Snape's cock. "I must remind you, Potter, that time is of the essence. Try and control is as quickly as you can, and then join the faculty in the Entrance Hall."

"Right," Harry said, fiddling nervously with his sleeve. "I'll do my best."

"For the sake of the wizarding world, I pray that that is good enough," Snape said dryly, and swooped out of the door.

Harry looked at Draco's pale face and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Stop that," Draco chided weakly. "I'm the one who's supposed to be supporting, here."

Harry snorted. "You? Supporting?" he joked feebly. "That'll be the day." He took a deep, steadying breath and gazed down into the potion. It was clear, looked just like water. He would totally be able to control it.

"Cheers," he said quietly, raised the bottle in a toast, and downed the potion in one.

The two minutes it took for the potion to kick in were dreadful. He and Draco stared at each other in silence, both waiting, knowing exactly what would happen and hoping it would be enough…

_There_. Harry's eyes widened as his oxygen supply was suddenly cut off. He was ready for the dizziness this time, and instead of falling over, he leaned heavily over Snape's desk, clutching at the edges until he thought they might break off. God, energy rushing through him, he could feel it filling every atom of his being, he was _bursting_ with power, _overflowing_ with it. He could do _anything_.

The roar of the potion faded and he was filled with a sudden awareness of everything around him; the teachers, gathered in the Entrance Hall, chattering nervously, tension high. The students, huddled in their respective common rooms, all of them terrified. The castle, aware of the approaching danger, bracing itself for its own destruction, strengthening its defences as much as it could.

The boy, standing three feet away from him, a substance coursing through his blood that did not belong there, his thoughts swirling in his head and his heart beating erratically.

"Harry?" he heard Draco say anxiously, and Harry pulled off his glasses carelessly and opened his eyes.

Another explosion, this time centred around his cock, set itself off in Harry's body. Draco was so beautiful, so perfect. Harry needed to protect him, to keep him from harm, to make him feel _good_. He'd make Draco forget every bad thought that was hovering like a black cloud around his head, he'd fuck Draco until he couldn't speak, couldn't think, only _feel_. He'd touch every centimetre of Draco's skin until he was writhing in his beautiful way, wanting, desiring, _needing_ Harry.

And Draco would love it.

Quicker than a thought, Harry was cupping Draco's chin in his hand and joining their mouths. Draco's heartbeat grew wilder, pumping harshly in his chest. Harry felt him giving in, melting, submitting to Harry, and Harry thrilled at the thought. Draco was so aroused now; Harry wanted nothing more than to sate him, to bring him to the peak of pleasure and keep him there until Harry saw fit to bring him crashing down in a burst of fulfilled lust.

But – what the hell? – Draco's hand pushed at Harry's chest. Nowhere near hard enough to make Harry move, of course, but Harry didn't want to make Draco unhappy. He broke the kiss.

This didn't make sense. Harry could _tell_ that Draco wanted Harry to kiss him. He could feel it, knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. So why was Draco protesting?

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, frustrated that he couldn't figure it out.

Draco looked at him dazedly, his hands still clutched in Harry's robes. "You… there's, um. The Dark Lord. You have to fight him."

Was that all? Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was scared it was something important. "I don't care," he murmured, letting his eyes drift down to Draco's lips. "I'd much rather spend some… _quality_ _time_ with you."

Draco let out a whimper and Harry kissed him again. God, but he tasted amazing. All sugar and sweetness and _Draco_ and Harry pulled their bodies closer together and buried his hand in Draco's beautiful hair and—_fuck, what now_?!

"Harry, you need – you need to kill him," Draco panted into Harry's mouth.

"I need to fuck you until you forget your own name," Harry growled in return, electricity running down his spine as he felt Draco shudder violently in his arms.

"You can," Draco whispered. "I want – I promise, you can. But first you have to get rid of the Dark Lord and then we'll be free to do whatever we want, I swear."

Harry felt that they were free to do whatever they wanted right then, actually, and leaned forward to taste Draco's neck to prove it. Draco threw his head back and moaned deep in his throat and Harry _knew_ that he'd won.

"I'll let you take control this time, Draco," he murmured, his hand finding the bulge in Draco's trousers and _squeezing_. "Do you want to tie me up, have me beg for your cock? Or do you want me to hold you down and fuck you until you come so hard you see _stars_?"

"_Fuck yes_, I want… No, Harry, please. You have to stop. This – _ah!_ – this is important."

Harry remained unconvinced. How could Voldemort be more important than Draco? The idea was ludicrous. Unless, of course…

"Is this something you want?" he asked.

Draco stared at him for a few long moments. Then he nodded. "Yes. Yeah, it is. Will you do it? For me?"

"I will do anything for you," Harry breathed, and resigned himself to wasting a good hour of his day defeating an undead lunatic with an ego problem.

***

The Entrance Hall was an unexpected sensational overload. So much _noise_, so many people. Harry flinched away from the information bombarding his senses, wanting desperately to disappear with Draco to the Room of Requirement and make Draco the centre of his world again. These people didn't belong here. They weren't worthy to be in the same _room_ as Draco.

A large magical power itched at the edge of Harry's consciousness and he turned towards it, automatically erecting a shield charm around Draco to protect him from danger.

It was Dumbledore. Harry looked at him in amazement. He was so _old_. His body had grown weary long ago and he was running on almost pure magic, magic that was more powerful than most of the teachers put together.

"Professor," he said respectfully. Harry was more powerful than him, of course, but Dumbledore's was by far the most impressive magic swirling around the room.

"Harry," Dumbledore replied. "I trust everything went well in the dungeons?"

"It did, sir. There will be no problems, I'm almost certain."

Dumbledore twinkled at him. "Excellent, excellent. Now, Mr Malfoy, I think it would be best if you were to—"

"Draco's going with me." / "I'm going with him."

Dumbledore gazed at them searchingly. He was using Legilimency, Harry knew that now, could see it in the air, and he freely allowed the headmaster to see the urge to do nothing but defend Draco. As if he would for a second let Draco be even slightly harmed. The thought itself hurt Harry to his very core.

"You must protect him, Harry," Dumbledore said, a hint of respect in his voice that Harry had never heard before.

"It is unthinkable to do anything else," Harry responded, bowing his head. He felt Draco shiver beside him and wound an arm around his waist. Draco shifted closer and rested his head on Harry's shoulder and in that moment, Harry felt perfectly content. Draco was with him, trusting him, and everybody here would see it. Everybody would know that Draco belonged to _him_.

Dumbledore regarded them quietly and nodded, and Harry took that as permission to leave. He headed for the oak front doors, impatient to get this whole business out of the way so he could spend time with Draco. Alone.

"Harry!"

Why did these people keep bothering him? Two figures, both of comparatively low power, were running towards him. The taller one came to a halt, but the shorter kept running and she flung herself into Harry's arms.

Harry, remembering that this was _Hermione_ and she was his friend, tried not to shudder. Nobody should touch him unless they were Draco. _Draco_ was the one he wanted, not any of these people.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione sobbed into his chest. "Oh, Harry, I can't believe it! Be careful! Please, please be careful!"

Harry pushed her away firmly. "I won't need to be," he told her. "I'm at least ten times as powerful as he is. All this fuss is entirely unnecessary. As soon as he gets here, I'll have him dead within five minutes."

For some reason, this seemed to upset Hermione further and her eyes overflowed with tears. She shook her head, unable to say anything else. That was fine by Harry. He could focus on Draco again now.

But Ron apparently had something to add. "Watch yourself, yeah?" he said gruffly. Rather than pointing out again that he _didn't need to_, Harry nodded. Anything to get them out of the way quicker.

"And you," he returned politely. Ron stared at him a moment longer, then he, too, grabbed him into a hug. What was it with these people and physical contact? Harry awkwardly patted Ron on the back until Ron straightened up and looked around, searching for something to say. His eyes fell on Draco. Harry stiffened.

"What's Malfoy doing here?" Ron asked somewhat suspiciously. "Shouldn't he be trembling in the dungeons with the other cowardly Slytherin bast—_argh_!"

Harry's hand was raised and a tight loop of magic was encircling Ron's throat before Ron could finish his sentence. How did he have the _nerve_ to stand there and casually insult Draco? He wasn't even worthy to say Draco's _name_.

"_Harry_!" Hermione's voice. She was hardly any better than Ron; Harry could _feel_ that she didn't like Draco and that was bad enough. He ignored her and tightened his hand. Ron made a choking noise, his face bright red and his eyes bulging.

"Harry, stop, please stop!" And to think, Ron was even _related_ to Draco. He was filthy, polluting the world with his unworthiness and dirty remarks. It was _disgusting_.

"Potter, you idiot, _stop it_!" Harry obeyed the command without question and dropped his arm.

Ron took a gasping breath and leaned heavily on Hermione. The two of them glared at him accusingly. "Who the hell _are_ you?" Ron wheezed. Harry regarded him impassively and said nothing. He wasn't going to waste any more time with either of the two Gryffindors.

Draco grabbed his arm. "We'll explain later," he told Ron and Hermione shortly, and dragged Harry out of the door before anybody else could waylay them. He

"I should have _killed_ him," Harry said once they were safe from the intense jabbering of the Entrance Hall.

"Don't be an idiot, he's your best friend," Draco replied.

"He insulted you," Harry hissed. "He deserves to die."

Draco smiled ruefully. "You'd regret it in the morning."

Harry stopped walking. He cupped Draco's face in his hands and leaned closer, desperate that Draco understand. "Never." Draco ducked his head and said nothing. "Draco," Harry implored. "I'm not going to let anybody hurt you ever again, I promise."

"Tell me that tomorrow morning and I'll believe you," Draco said softly. "Now aren't you supposed to be preparing to defeat a Dark Lord or something?"

Harry waved a hand. "I don't need to prepare for that, it's going to be easy. But you… I want you to stay quiet," Harry said, touching Draco's face, reassuring himself that he was fine, that he'd survive. "I'll wrap you in spells that will mask your presence, but they'll be more effective if you don't draw attention to yourself. Voldemort's an idiot, but he's a perceptive little bastard. Please, please keep still and silent. I need to know that you're safe. I'm not going to lose you, Draco."

Draco smiled at him, but Harry knew it was feigned. He could Apparate them to the Room of Requirement right now. Draco needn't be so sad. "You're not going to lose me, Harry," Draco said, looping his arms around Harry's neck. "And you have to promise to stay safe, too, okay?"

"Anything for you," Harry breathed, meaning every word, and leaned in for a kiss. Draco granted him one, and the two of them stood wrapped around each other in the frosty January air, but Harry wasn't cold. He could never be cold again, not with Draco at his side.

"Wish we didn't have to do this," Draco murmured when they broke apart, their foreheads touching.

"We don't have to," Harry said immediately. "I'll take you away and we'll be together, just you and me."

Draco laughed breathily. "Sounds appealing, but maybe we should solve the Dark Lord problem first."

"You're more important to me than a million Dark Lords," Harry told him softly, and Draco finally gave in and smiled properly, his face brilliantly open and _god, so beautiful_. Harry was literally just about to forget about Voldemort and Apparate them both out of there, when he felt a niggling presence at the edge of his consciousness. Several niggling presences.

"They're here," he said, and immediately cast protection charms to keep Draco from harm.

Draco shimmered out of view. Harry couldn't help but mourn the loss of Draco's face gazing at him, but he _would_ have it again. Once this stupid thing was over and done with. Not long now…

A mass of black robes and white masks were making their way up the drive to the castle, and Harry turned to watch them approach with amusement. The castle's anti-apparition spells were easy to get around. It just showed Voldemort's weakness that he _walked_ here.

Harry sought out Draco with his mind, careful to keep his thoughts shielded from the approaching group. He was still safe, still hidden, and Harry smiled grimly. Soon, it would all be over. Soon.

The horde of Death Eaters came to a halt in front of him and their leader stepped forward and pushed down his hood.

"Harry," he said pleasantly. "How nice to see you again."

Oh bloody hell, Voldemort and his small talk. This could take longer than he'd anticipated. "Wish I could say the same, Tom," Harry said lightly, feeling nothing but confidence that he could finally beat Voldemort.

The Death Eaters hissed. "It is unwise to taunt me, Harry," Voldemort warned. "It could be the last thing you ever do."

"I doubt that, somehow," Harry returned idly, resisting the urge to check on Draco again. "My track record is a damn sight better than yours is."

"Oh, little Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Only alive because of the power of _love_. Do you see where that has got you, Harry? Sent out alone to face me. Such _bravery_. Such _nobility_. Your parents would have been so proud."

"You've mentioned that before, yeah." God, Harry would be doing Voldemort a favour by killing him. He was getting so boring.

Voldemort smirked. "I think it's about time we ended your little _legend_, don't you, Harry?" He drew out his wand and pointed it straight at Harry's heart. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry stood with his arms folded, unimpressed, as a jet of green light sailed straight towards him and then… faded.

Voldemort's face contorted with rage. "What did you do?" he hissed at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe you're tired or something," he said. "You are getting on now, you know, Tom. What are you, seventy?"

There was a murmur from the Death Eaters. "Silence!" Voldemort spat. "I will not tolerate insolence from a _boy_! _Avada Kedavra_!"

The spell failed again. Voldemort looked ready to explode. Harry wished he would; it'd be over sooner.

"Potter!" Voldemort screeched. "You _dare _make me look a fool? I suppose you are _proud_ of your cheap trick, you filthy half-blood?"

"Oh, come off it," Harry scoffed. "You're as much of a half-blood as I am. Look, I've let you have your moment, but are you finished with the theatrics yet? I have something I want to do."

Another murmur came from the gathered Death Eaters.

"Why, you impertinent little—I will end this now!"

"No, _I'm_ going to end this," Harry cut across him. "You're a wreck, Tom Riddle. I'm doing you a favour."

Harry squeezed his hands into fists and a flame appeared in the air in front of Voldemort. Voldemort's red eyes narrowed. "You think I can be defeated by your babyish spells?" he spat.

"I know you can," Harry assured, and flicked a finger. The flame burst into a roaring ball of fire, totally enveloping Voldemort in a heartbeat.

Harry watched emotionlessly as the thing that once was Tom Marvolo Riddle burned in a roaring sphere of fire. He watched as high-pitched blood-curdling screams escaped the blazing ball of flames.

And he did nothing. He felt nothing.

And then it was over.

He turned to the Death Eaters. They huddled together, unsure what to do without their master to command them, scared of the power that Harry wielded. He glared at them in disgust. He should kill them, too. Slowly and painfully, until nothing remained of them except ash. The world would be better off without them.

But…

Draco's father was out there. Even though each black-robed figure was indistinguishable from the next, Harry knew immediately which minion was Lucius Malfoy. And although Draco thought his father was wrong in following Voldemort, Harry knew Draco didn't want Lucius _dead_.

Harry swore. He couldn't _not_ punish them; half of them would lie and blackmail their way out of Azkaban far too easily thanks to the uselessness that was the Ministry of Magic. And there was no way that Death eaters should be allowed to live happy and normal lives – especially when Harry himself had been denied one for so long.

A burning desire for revenge enveloped Harry's mind. These bastards didn't _deserve_ to live. They didn't deserve to go back to their manor houses and see their families and hug their children. They deserved to _die_.

Harry raised a hand and extended his senses to the crowd of Death Eaters. Oh, and he could feel them. So weak. He could stop all of their hearts in a second and they could do nothing to stop him. He was _inside_ them, could see every little thing that kept their bodies alive, the connections that sustained their existence. And he could break them.

He _would_ break them.

The wizarding world would thank him for destroying the last of Voldemort's followers. With them still alive, anything could happen. Voldemort had been killed once before. He could come back. And Harry could stop that.

Draco's terrified face exploded in front of Harry's eyes. He didn't want his father to die. He was so scared. He was scared of _Harry_.

"Fuck," Harry hissed. He blinked the image away, resolutely tightened his hands into fists and _pulled_.

A swirling mass of colour rose up from the gathered wizards. The Death Eaters didn't seem to be able to see it; they stared at Harry's raised hands in bewilderment. A few of the bolder ones started to laugh, Lucius Malfoy among them. Harry smiled grimly. It was better this way. This way they would _suffer_.

The colours swirled faster and faster until it became a huge vortex of pure black spinning over the heads of the oblivious Death Eaters, whipping their robes against their bodies, blowing their masks off until every one of their faces was visible. Harry smiled again. It would be easier for the Ministry to catalogue the bodies.

The vortex condensed into a whirling orb of pure power. Power that could not be vanished, and Harry certainly didn't want it. He made sure the shield charm protecting Draco was sufficiently strong, and then he _blasted_ the orb into ground.

It exploded immediately, sending a shockwave across the grounds, hitting the Death Eaters with a huge force and knocking every last one unconscious. And Harry smiled.

The surroundings settled gradually and Harry cast a cursory containment charm over where the Death Eaters lay. They didn't hold his attention any more. He had far more important things to worry about.

Harry slowly turned around and lifted the concealment charms from Draco, though he left the protection spells intact.

Draco's face was completely white. Harry resisted the urge to gather him into his arms, knowing that Draco was probably petrified of him just then. The thought came with no small amount of anguish.

"Did you… did you kill him? The Dar… Voldemort. Is he dead?" Draco's voice was small.

"He's dead," Harry confirmed. "And hopefully for good this time, though I can't be one hundred percent certain."

Draco nodded. "And…" He swallowed. Harry's heart ached to see him in such pain. "And the rest of them? Are they… I mean, did you…"

"They're alive," Harry interrupted. "But I took away their magic. They're all Squibs now, Draco."

"Squibs," Draco repeated dumbly, and shook his head. "You took… no, no, let me get this straight. You just _took away_ their ability to do magic? Altogether? For good?"

Harry nodded, bracing himself for Draco leaving in disgust and not looking back. It felt like his body was poised on the edge of shattering into tiny little pieces.

"But that's _fantastic_!" Draco exclaimed, and Harry blinked. Draco was grinning widely, his eyes sparkling. It didn't _seem_ like the grin of someone who was going to abandon him.

"You don't hate me?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Merlin, no! You're a fucking genius! They are going to be _so pissed off_ and, best of all, there's nothing they can do about it! It's perfect!"

No, _Draco_ was perfect. How could Harry have thought that Draco would be anything but understanding? He closed his eyes as an overwhelming wave of desire washed over him. He wanted Draco. Needed him. Needed him _right fucking now_.

He grabbed Draco's arm and Apparated them both to the Entrance Hall, where all the teachers were still gathered.

"Voldemort is dead," Harry said shortly, no longer having the patience to control himself. The crisis was _over_ and now he wanted Draco. "The Death Eaters are all alive and without magic. I will not be giving it them back. Feel free to arrest them or call the Ministry here or have a party, but for now, headmaster, Draco and I would like some time alone."

Harry, despite his newfound respect for Dumbledore, didn't wait for acknowledgement. He Apparated straight to the Room of Requirement where he finally – _finally _– could kiss Draco properly.

And, _ohh_, it was good. Draco seemed just as desperate as Harry was and the two of them devoured each other with a kind of terrible passion.

Harry made good on his promise to fuck Draco so hard that he forgot his name; in fact, Draco seemed to forget all words except 'oh fuck!' and '_Harry!_', and Harry had long since forgotten about the existence of everything but the beautiful boy writhing beneath him.

It was a long time before they stopped. Harry needed to make up for a whole day of sexual frustration and Draco was eager to comply. Eventually, though, Draco tired and Harry was left alone while Draco slept.

Harry gazed down at him and gently brushed his hair out of his beautiful face. On a whim, Harry reached out with his mind and his consciousness was inside Draco's body as easily as stepping through an open door.

He was immediately filled with an overwhelming sense of _wrongness_. Something was in here that shouldn't be. Something that _wasn't Draco_.

It didn't take long to identify the offending entity. A cloying honeyed substance rushing through Draco's bloodstream, affecting his every mood, every decision. And Harry knew what it was.

He could banish it from Draco's body. It would be easy. He would just isolate every instance of Orexis Votum and pull it out of Draco's bloodstream and it would be like Draco had never drunk the potion. They'd go back to normal. Draco wouldn't be forced to like Harry any more.

Wondering when he had become so selfish, Harry gently extracted himself from Draco, rolled over and closed his eyes.


	13. Chapter 12

**AN**: Sorry it's a little late! I'm gonna use the excuse that it's a bank holiday today, so TECHNICALLY it's still weekend. But really it's because I'm an awful procrastinator and decided at the last minute that half this chapter needed rewriting and I'M SORRY!

Also, 'cause some of you have been asking - there are fourteen chapters overall, plus the prologue and epilogue. I'll probably post ch14 and the epilogue at the same time, so there are only two weeks of updates left! Thank you so much for sticking with this story for so long - you've all made me a very happy fangirl and I love every single one of you. :3

And now, on to the chapter!

**Chapter 12**

Draco woke up slowly, feeling perfectly content, which was not something he ordinarily felt upon waking. In fact, when he normally woke up all he felt was a desire to either go right back to sleep or to drink a lake full of coffee, so contentment was a definite improvement.

He rolled over and the reason behind his feelings became apparent in a rush of memory. Merlin, but Harry had been amazing yesterday. Draco didn't think he'd ever wanted him more. It had been a nightmare trying to control himself when he knew that one word from him and Harry would let the entire wizarding world go to shit.

And Merlin, but wasn't that a thrill? Knowing that the most powerful person in the world would do just about anything for you? Having to be the one to stop him from ignoring the rest of the world in favour of making you feel good? Being able to dig your fingernails into his shoulders while he was fucking you slowly and deeply and passionately?

Draco felt his face heat up and ignored the aching in his cock in favour of watching Harry sleep. Not that he hadn't done enough of watching Harry over the last two months, but this was different. Harry was completely unguarded. And he was _gorgeous_.

Falling readily into now-familiar daydreams, Draco resisted the urge to touch Harry and just allowed himself to _look_.

He wasn't perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination; even under the influence of the potion, Draco could see that. But he couldn't help but feel twinges of – of arousal, of whatever side-effect of the potion it was that made his mouth tug up at the corners and warmth to bloom in his stomach – when his eyes traced the straight line of Harry's nose, the shadows of his eyelashes, the darkness of his eyebrows.

Eyebrows that apparently knew that they were being watched, if the frown gradually taking them over was any clue. Draco mourned the loss of his uninhibited Harry-watching, but still couldn't help but look forward to Harry regaining consciousness. His cock really was very hard.

Draco held his breath as Harry's eyelids flickered and tension slowly creeped back into his body. Any second now, Harry would wake up and smile at him and they'd kiss and get off and it would be wonderful and…

"Argh!" Harry's eyes snapped open and his hand shot out, and the next thing Draco knew there was a flash of light and a sharp pain in the side of his neck. He hissed and recoiled.

Harry's eyes widened. "Shit, I'm sorry!" he gasped, struggling to sit up. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine." Draco pulled away and rubbed at his neck.

"I just – bad dream – here, let me see." Harry reached out.

"I said it's fine," Draco said, batting Harry's hand away irritably. "Just a stinging hex."

Harry didn't give in. "Come on, let me look—"

"Just _leave it_, Potter," Draco snapped, good mood well and truly gone.

Harry stopped, arm still outstretched. He looked like he was going to say something else but after a several long moments, he flopped back down on the bed with a sigh.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Draco knew that he was overreacting, but he didn't like that Potter's first instinct upon waking was to hex him. And here Draco had been feeling _safe_ and _happy _waking up next to Potter. What a joke.

He bet if it was _Granger _Potter was waking up next to, he wouldn't hex _her_.

Disgusted with his own thoughts, Draco followed Harry by falling backwards with a huff of irritation.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly. Draco rolled his eyes and said nothing. Why was he so upset about this? It wasn't as if he thought that Harry actually _liked_ him. He'd known all along that Harry was meeting up with him just because he liked _helping_ people. Perhaps with… recent events… Draco had forgotten that.

He sighed and turned his head. Harry was staring up at the ceiling, not blinking.

"Are you okay?" Draco finally asked.

"No," Harry said bluntly, not looking at him. "I killed someone yesterday."

Bloody Gryffindors. "No, you rid the world of some insane murdering bastard," Draco told him firmly. "Different thing."

Harry didn't reply; just stared up at the ceiling blankly.

"Harry, come on. Think of all the people who are going to live now that he's gone. You've saved _far_ more lives than you've taken. And, really, I don't even think the Dark… Voldemort… was properly alive to begin with."

"No, to begin with he was," Harry said quietly. "He used to be Tom Riddle. He was really clever, became a prefect. Then Head Boy. And I killed him."

Harry's flat, expressionless tone of voice was really starting to creep Draco out. "Harry, look at me." Harry carried on staring upwards. "_Look at me_."

Harry turned his head and lifeless green eyes bored into Draco. Draco cringed. He scrambled to his knees and leaned over Harry's prone form.

"It's completely unfair that you had to do that," Draco said seriously. "But it was a good thing you did. Harry, you single-handedly saved the entire world from an eternity of fear, don't you understand that? Voldemort would have never given up, not until he had the whole world under his control. You saved _everyone_."

Harry didn't move. "I still killed, Draco. I'm a murderer."

Admittedly, that was hard to argue with. "You did what you had to. You _could_ have killed all of the Death Eaters, too, but you didn't."

"I was going to," Harry said dully. "I wanted to. I wanted to reach inside every single one of them and rip out their hearts."

Draco winced. "But you_ didn't_," he said, getting the feeling that he was going to lose this argument. He didn't like that feeling. Not one bit. "You just took their magic so they couldn't cause any more trouble, and left them for the Ministry to deal with."

"Yeah, and you know _why_ I did that?" Harry asked, sitting up, a light flickering back into his eyes. "Because of _you_. The only reason I didn't kill every single one of those bastards is because I knew that your dad was out there and I didn't want you upset."

Draco inhaled sharply and had to look away. "Be that as it may," he forced out. "You still didn't. And – and it's in the past now, you can forget all about it."

Harry snorted and dropped his head into his hands. "As if I'm ever going to be able to forget about it," he mumbled. "The one thing I could do to get me even more bloody famous than I already was, and I go and do it. Typical."

Draco said nothing. He'd always assumed that Harry _enjoyed_ his fame, even if he complained about it. Why else would he blatantly take advantage of it? But, looking at Harry now, it was impossible to think that he was excited by the prospect of his heightened celebrity.

At a loss, Draco stretched out an arm and grasped Harry's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way.

"It'll blow over eventually," he said, feeling helpless. "At least this way, you don't have it looming over you all the time. He's out of the way now. For good."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, lifting his head. "You know, you were really great yesterday."

Draco snorted dismissively. "_I_ was great? You were the one who defeated the darkest wizard to ever have existed, something which _nobody_ has been able to do, not even Dumbledore."

Harry shook his head and stared right at Draco. At least his eyes weren't all empty any more. "There's no way I would have been able to do it without you," he said softly. "Thank you, Draco."

Unable to resist any longer, Draco smiled and pulled Harry into a kiss. It was surprisingly _un_-sexual, to say that Draco was still sporting an aching erection, but Draco was fine with just kissing. No, not fine. He was – he was _happy_. He was happy with the fact that the kiss wasn't going to lead to sex. He was happy with the fact that he was leaning over at an awkward angle and both his knees and back were staring to complain. He was happy with Harry. And bloody hell, wasn't that a fucking revelation?

They broke apart slowly. It took several tries for their mouths to _not_ reattach themselves, and Draco… couldn't stop smiling. Here they were, just the two of them, completely cut off from the chaos that was inevitably happening in the rest of the castle.

And yet…

A thought niggled at Draco's brain, had been niggling at him ever since Harry had said it yesterday. It was a stupid thought. He _knew_ it was stupid. Harry had been out of his mind, Draco shouldn't trust what he'd said. But…

"Is… is there anything else you want to say?" Draco asked, feeling incredibly foolish but not being able to quash the hope that was floating like a bubble in his chest. The potion shouldn't have had that great an effect on Harry's thoughts, right? It was possible that he'd meant it. He might still… maybe…

A crease appeared between Harry's eyebrows. "Er, no?"

Draco blinked. The bubble popped.

"Just checking," he said lightly and, sitting up, threw back the covers, not looking at Harry. "Come on, hero, you'll have to face the music some time."

oOo

It wasn't as bad as they'd expected.

It was worse.

They sneaked out of the Room under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, unsure of what would be happening outside of the thick stone walls of their sanctuary.

Madness. That's what was happening.

The usually-deserted seventh floor corridor had students dashing along it, chasing each other and giggling, and even before they'd reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Draco and Harry had passed three different couples locked in amorous embraces in alcoves and behind suits of armour. Draco was around ninety percent sure that one of the couples was Ginny Weasley and another girl, but he said nothing.

They split up at the end of the corridor, Harry keeping the cloak on so he could make it to Granger and Weasley without being mobbed and Draco slipping from beneath it when they thought that everyone was looking the other way. Draco made a mental note to hex himself silly when he realised he already missed Harry's warm body beside him.

The dungeons were hardly any better than Gryffindor territory. An extremely uncharacteristic babble of sound hit Draco as soon as he stepped into the common room, and he gazed around in shock. The lower years were blatantly enjoying the wizarding world's new freedom in the least dignified ways they could manage – playing _chase_ around the common room, for Merlin's sake – and Draco swore he recognised students from other houses mingling with the Slytherins. _Other houses_ in _his_ common room! It was ridiculous.

There were some people who didn't seem to be celebrating, though. In the far corner of the common room, a select group of students, Zabini among them, had their heads together and seemed to be plotting. Draco scowled at them and added knocking them all down a peg or two to his list of Plans To Think Of.

Along the west wall, though, were Draco's friends. Pansy and the others. They, too, weren't running around in celebration, but Draco couldn't imagine they'd do that under _any_ circumstances. They had been brought up better than that. Admittedly, Draco supposed that Crabbe and Goyle weren't celebrating because they didn't know what had happened, but still.

Draco fought his way through the crowd and joined them.

"Hey," he greeted over the noise. He received a few grunts and nods in return. Pansy shuffled over in her chair and gestured for him to join her.

"How is he?" she asked softly, once he'd settled into the seat, Pansy half on his lap.

Draco glanced around quickly. Everyone was either staring in disgust at the chaos that the common room had dissolved into, or were contributing heavily to said chaos. Nobody seemed to be taking any notice of the two of them.

"Okay," Draco replied quietly, speaking into her hair. "A bit messed up about the whole murdering thing, but he's a Gryffindor, it's only to be expected."

Pansy nodded sympathetically. "Those with morals can be awfully irritating to deal with," she said seriously.

Lunch was as informal as usual, although somewhat more boisterous, but dinner was nauseatingly ceremonial. Dumbledore gave a huge speech about the power of love and some such rubbish, and then extended his formal thanks to Harry, along with every other teacher. Then followed _another_ speech on Harry's greatness. Draco tried not to vomit into his apple crumble.

By the end of the evening, Draco was so sick of hearing about the wonder of Harry that he almost decided to just 'forget' to go to the Room of Requirement after dinner out of fear of pure Harry Potter overload.

Almost.

oOo

Finding time to be alone with Harry was more difficult than it ever had been before. Everywhere he went, the Boy Who Lived Again was surrounded by admirers and nosey insolent brats who wanted to know every little detail about his life. The Gryffindors rallied around him, keeping his fans at bay and sorting through the onslaught of owls he received each morning.

And for some reason, this annoyed Draco.

He even thought for a moment that he might be jealous, but he dismissed that thought before it could take root. Why would he be jealous of having to read letter after letter gushing over Harry's manly physique and bulging biceps (neither of which were at all true – Harry may have been the most gorgeous creature in the school, but a muscled Adonis he was not).

And Draco _certainly_ wasn't jealous of the times when more… unsavoury… things came in the post. A few days ago from his spot at the Slytherin table, Draco had seen Weasley cheerily open a neatly-wrapped package addressed to Harry only to be confronted with a pair of huge frilly pink knickers. When Draco asked Harry later, Harry refused to answer whether or not they were clean. Which spoke for itself, really.

And just this morning, Granger had bravely unwrapped a small square parcel and was immediately hexed in the face. Her nose had swollen to the size of a watermelon in less than five seconds, and Draco had had to hide his guffaws behind his coffee.

So, no, he wasn't jealous. Most definitely not. What did _he_ care that it was never him to whom Harry looked to help him keep his fangirls away? He was _fine_ with that. He didn't need the hassle. Not in the slightest.

The fact that during their evenings in the Room of Requirement Draco was more possessive than ever didn't mean anything. He was just enjoying Harry's company, that was all. And if the two of them acted more and more like a couple as the week went on, well that was obviously because they were simply used to each other by now.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Draco suspected the potion's influence was now only a small part of his attraction towards Potter. Not at all. The very idea was absurd.

Anyway, the antidote would be ready in a few days. Things would go back to normal.

Draco was absolutely, definitely, completely one-hundred percent looking forward to that day. He certainly wasn't dreading it. Nope. Not one bit.

It was during one of the few hours that Draco had Harry all to himself that they were interrupted by an owl tapping insistently at the window of the Room of Requirement. Draco resisted the urge to _require_ the window to turn into wall and reluctantly pulled himself away from Harry's mouth. The owl might be important – if it wasn't, it would've come with the other post owls at breakfast.

"It's from my mother," he said with surprise once he'd let the owl in and tugged the letter from its leg.

Harry, still lying on the bed, rested his head on one arm and grinned. "Damning me to hell for being so horrible to her poor husband?"

"Not in so many words," Draco replied, eyes scanning down the page. "More trying to cover their tracks, listen: _'You must understand, Draco, that your father would never try to attack Hogwarts; the spell Potter cast must have affected anyone with even the most distant of connections to the Dark Lord'_. Well that's a load of rubbish, I saw him myself."

Harry closed his eyes and made a vague noise of agreement.

"'_We have top researchers from the Ministry's Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes searching tirelessly for a cure; do not fret about your father's unfortunate fate.'_ Don't worry, Mother, fretting is the last thing on my mind right now," Draco said dryly, and put the tip of his wand to the edge of the parchment, watching flames curl up and devour his mother's letter.

"Well, it wasn't a bad reaction, considering," Harry said lightly.

"Definitely could have been worse," Draco agreed. "Imagine if she knew I helped? Well, sort of."

"You definitely helped. So, really, you should be going to all these stupid ceremonies with me. You'd probably get a kick out of them."

Draco snorted. "Absolutely not. You get the fame and the adoring fans, you have to do shit like that. And speaking of reactions, you never said – how did the Gryffindors take it? What did you tell them?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "The truth? Well, kind of. I said that I'd taken a potion to make me more powerful, and a side-effect was that I was very protective of you."

"And they believed you?"

"Well, yeah." He shrugged. "Hermione asked why it was you in particular, and I just said that you just happened to be in Snape's office when it kicked in. Which is still the truth." Draco wished that Harry wasn't so obsessed with telling the _truth_. They could have come up with a much better story than that. He rolled his eyes and went back to the bed, after shooing the owl back out of the window.

"But, hey, at least it's over now," Harry continued. "I can finally have a normal life, right?"

"Mm, very normal," Draco said flippantly, settling himself on the bed by straddling Harry's thighs. "Just hanging out in the Room of Requirement with your drugged son-of-a-Death-Eater lover."

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. "L-lover?" he choked, blinking up at Draco. "I… I've never really thought of you… like that…"

Draco leaned forwards until his mouth was next to Harry's ear. "How do you think of me?" he breathed.

Harry shivered again. "Well, I mean… you're just Draco, aren't you?"

"Not 'Malfoy'?" Draco inquired teasingly.

"Not for a while," Harry admitted, twisting his neck towards Draco's voice. "Probably not since I started… uh…"

That got Draco intrigued. "Started what?"

"Oh, it – it doesn't matter."

"Tell me," Draco prompted with a downwards grind of his hips. Harry's fingers tightened on Draco's leg.

"Started… I mean, I sometimes – think about…"

"_Tell me_," Draco said impatiently. "There's not much we could say that'd embarrass us at this stage."

"You," Harry finished in a mortified voice, definitely not looking at Draco now. "Doing… stuff. _Wanking_."

_Fuck_. Maybe it wasn't the best of ideas to get Potter to expand on his unfinished sentences. Draco pressed himself downwards until he was lying flat against Harry and marvelled at how very _warm_ Harry was. And also at how very fast his heart was beating. Draco's wasn't far behind.

"I think about you too," Draco said into Harry's neck. "All the time. Every time I look at you, every time someone mentions your _name_, every time I see somebody with _black_ _hair_ or _green eyes_ or _glasses_ or just with a fucking _face_, I can't help it. You've been taking over my mind for _weeks_ and I don't think there's been a full hour that I haven't been hard as fuck."

"I didn't realise it was that bad," Harry said softly.

"It's worse," Draco corrected, resting his cheek on Harry's shoulder. "But I guess I'm used to it now." His head was dislodged as Harry twisted in his arms. No more words were exchanged; Harry just cupped Draco's cheek and kissed him. Draco's eyelashes fluttered closed and he couldn't help but melt into Harry's embrace. Harry's glasses began to dig into the side of Draco's face, but of course Draco didn't care. They were part of what made Harry _Harry_, and for that reason he thrilled at their touch.

"Mm," Harry mumbled into the kiss. "I could get used to this kind of normality." Draco, damn it all, agreed.

oOo

They were kissing again. Obviously. It felt like at least eighty percent of Draco's life was with Harry, and ninety-five percent of that time, they were snogging.

It still wasn't enough.

Draco pressed his body closer to Harry's, revelling in the lack of resistance from the would-be hero. In fact, Harry was very much in favour of the action, if the low moan (that sounded a lot like Draco's name) he gave was any clue.

A shiver ran down Draco's spine as he slid his hands over Harry's denim-clad arse and squeezed. Another breathy moan was exhaled between their mouths and Draco swallowed it greedily, thriving on every involuntary noise and movement that Harry happened to make.

Draco tightened his arms so that Harry's crotch was pulled flush against his own and gasped as a zinging frisson of need shivered up and down his entire body.

"_Draco_," Harry murmured. "I… oh god, that's… you're so perfect… I…"

Draco demonstrated his agreement by capturing Harry's bottom lip between his teeth and biting down.

Harry pushed his hips forwards again. More zings set themselves off. _Merlin_.

"I… I want…" Harry managed to reclaim his lip and clutched at Draco's hair. "Shit, Draco, I—"

Harry wrenched his head backwards and they finally broke apart, both panting.

Harry looked at Draco intensely. "I want…" he repeated.

"Yeah?" Draco lowered his eyes back down to Harry's mouth. His lips were still wet from their kissing, but Harry's tongue flicked out to moisten them again anyway. Draco's heart skipped a beat.

Harry took a deep breath. "I want to see how you touch yourself. When you wank."

Draco's eyes shot straight back up to Harry's. Harry didn't seem to be joking. Draco swallowed. "I will if you will," he said hoarsely.

Harry inhaled sharply and bit his lip. Then he nodded. "Okay."

Desire flooded through Draco in a great rush. He swayed slightly on his feet as the last few remaining drops of blood in his head decidedly made their way southwards. "Right," he heard himself say. "I think… on the bed, then."

It seemed like it was the very next second that they were both naked and facing each other, on their knees on opposite sides of the bed. Draco could barely tear his eyes away from Harry's gorgeous dick. Merlin, he wanted it so much. He wanted it inside him, filling him, _fucking_ him. He let out a whimper and Harry wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled.

"We had an agreement?" Harry said in a husky voice. Draco's head span.

"Not gonna last," he whimpered in reply and squeezed a hand around his own cock, which was achingly hard and leaking. He hissed.

Harry's hand moved up and his fingers danced teasingly over the head. Draco unconsciously mimicked the action, his hips thrusting in mid-air, needing more contact. Harry let out a low moan and Draco wrenched his gaze from Harry's dick upwards.

_Oh. Sweet. Merlin_.

A light pink flush was working its way down from Harry's face to his chest, upon which sat two wine-coloured nipples which just _begged_ to be bitten. Harry's mouth was slightly open and Draco had to resist the urge to launch himself across the bed and claim those beautiful wet lips. And Harry's eyes – fuck – Harry's eyes were half-lidded and fixed directly on Draco's face.

"Shit – Harry—"

"Don't come yet," Harry ordered, and Draco had to grip the base of his cock in a tight fist.

"I need – so close…" Draco squeezed his eyes closed, not able to look at Harry without coming perilously near to blowing his load all over the bed sheets, death grip or not.

Harry's voice was suddenly a lot closer. "You're not allowed to come until I say so." His breath played over Draco's cheek and Draco tightened the grip on his cock.

"Harry, I…" Draco turned his head so he was facing the direction of Harry's voice and his nosed brushed the side of Harry's face. Suddenly they were kissing. Draco vaguely heard a whine that surely didn't come from him because Malfoys didn't make noises like that. He clutched at Harry's neck, trying to pull him closer, needing – _oh_ and Harry's bare, leaking erection pressed against Draco's hip and this not-coming business was the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do.

Harry's mouth slid down to his neck and Draco's head fell back, his hips thrusting helplessly. Harry bit down and Draco let out a tortured gasp, absently hoping that Harry left a mark. He wanted to remember this.

Harry's mouth slid lower… and lower… oh Merlin, he was going to – lower… nearly there…

"Wake the fuck up, Malfoy!"

"You're _fucking kidding me_."

Draco's eyes snapped open. Pansy stood, wand in one hand, the other firmly planted on her hip. "You _promised_ you'd help me with this pissing Potions homework before breakfast," she snapped. "It's nearly eight-fucking-o'clock and I have to meet Robbins in Hogsmeade in less than ninety minutes and you are a _lying bastard_."

Draco let out an extremely heartfelt frustrated moan. "Pansy," he said weakly. "You couldn't have waited _five more minutes _—"

"I don't give a shit about your wet dreams concerning your _lover_, Draco." Pansy sniffed disdainfully and Draco had to repress a whimper, recalling his conversation with Harry about that very word. He tried to shift around under the covers so his erection got some mild relief, while remaining unseen by Pansy. Despite the rude interruption, he was still embarrassingly close to coming.

"Oh, Draco's told you about his _lover_, has he, Pansy?" Fucking Zabini. Draco closed his eyes in mortification. "Funny, every time I ask him about his love life he refuses to elaborate."

_Come on, Pansy. Be smug and superior. You don't want to gossip. It's not that interest—fuck, who am I kidding? I'm shagging Harry Potter. I'm screwed._

"Really?" Pansy asked. _Please don't say anything please don't say anything please don't— _"Well, that's probably because you're an obnoxious prick, isn't it, Zabini?" _Oh thank fuck_.

"I'm an obnoxious prick, am I?" Draco heard Zabini snarl. "You don't know the _half_ of it, Parkinson. Do you know, for example—"

"She knows all of it, which is a damn sight more than you do," Draco quickly interjected, sitting up and bunching the quilt up around his lap. Zabini noticed and smirked, halfway through putting his shirt on. Draco absently noted that Harry had a much nicer chest than Blaise Zabini did.

"Yeah? Shall we exchange stories, do you think?"

Draco's heart pounded even as he sneered disdainfully at Zabini. He had two options: one, blag his way through and hope that Zabini didn't tell Pansy about the potion because he didn't want to look stupid, or two, try to distract Zabini from the current line of conversation, which Zabini was sure to notice. Some options they were.

"Feel free," Draco said derisively. "But can you do it later? Apparently I've got to teach Pansy what fucking linseed oil is and, to be frank, I'm going to want a shower in which nobody is interrupting me and I can masturbate in peace."

Pansy snorted, cuffed him on the shoulder, sent a _haha-fuck-you _look to Zabini and a _you-owe-me-an-explanation_ look to Draco (and a _oh-hey-Nott-where-did-those-biceps-come-from_ look to an uninterested Nott), and flounced out of the door.

"We have to stop her barging into the boys' dorm all the time," Crabbe commented from where he was hiding modestly behind the curtains surrounding his bed. Draco very much agreed.

oOo

A little too disappointed that there _wasn't_, in fact, a mark on his neck left by Harry and ridiculously frustrated that he hadn't been able to finish that dream, Draco made his way to breakfast in a less-than-wonderful mood. That is to say, he ignored everyone around him and very nearly hexed Millie when she tried to go for the coffee pot at the same time as he did. It was only his gentlemanly upbringing that saved her.

Also the fact that Millie could beat him to a pulp without even trying.

After his third cup of coffee, though, Draco felt that things were starting to look up. It was a Saturday, so he didn't have to endure classes and he could spend the day with Harry and he only had two pieces of homework to do and there was no more Voldemort and generally things were going well.

"Draco Malfoy?"

Draco looked over at a fourth year whose hair completely covered his eyes and who was apparently trying to get his attention. "Yes?" he asked curtly.

"Professor Snape wants to see you in his office," the fourth year said. Draco's happy mood shuddered to a halt as his heart thudded hard in his chest and his eyes immediately sought out Harry, who was staring right at him from across the hall. "He said something about your potions project being ready."


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Oh god. This was it. It had to be. What else could make Draco look like that? That mix of despair and – shit – happiness that Harry never thought was possible to see on a person's face. On Draco's face.

God, Harry was so selfish. He was so _stupid_. How could he have let himself do this? Actually _like_—

No, he wasn't going to think about that. It was over now. He always knew it would be temporary, that Draco never _actually_ wanted to…

Harry'd just put off thinking about it, more and more, and now…

Now…

He abruptly stood up.

"Back later," he said vaguely to Ron and Hermione, and headed for the door.

Draco caught up with him before he'd even left the Entrance Hall. "Did you hear—?" he asked. "Do you know?"

Harry tried to feign enthusiasm. "I can guess," he said, forcing himself to grin. "Is it ready?"

"_Yes_," Draco hissed, eyes alight. "I'm supposed to go to Snape's office now. You're coming with me, right?"

Harry took in Draco's eager face, the sheer hopefulness of his expression, and couldn't refuse. "Yeah, sure," he replied, and followed Draco down the cold stone corridor to the dungeons.

The journey to Snape's office seemed to take far longer than usual, but Harry found himself wishing they'd walked slower. He shook his head sharply to rid himself of the idea. It was _over_, he had no business thinking things like that anymore.

Draco led the way in, as usual, not even bothering to wait for a reply after knocking before pushing open the door and stepping briskly into the room.

"Malfoy… and Potter, how touching," Snape greeted them with a sardonic bow of his head. Neither Harry nor Draco responded.

"I got your message, Professor," Draco said.

Snape shot him a glare. "Obviously. Perhaps it was sent too late; Potter's intelligence levels seem to have rubbed off on you, Malfoy." Harry resisted the urge to tell Snape that his intelligence levels weren't the only thing that had been rubbing off on Draco.

Draco flushed. "Sorry, sir, but does that mean… that is to say, is it ready? The antidote?"

Snape opened a draw in his desk and produced a phial of deep red liquid with a small flourish. It looked like red wine. Or blood. Harry distinctly heard Draco's breathing speed up.

"Rather like the original potion, you need only ingest a single mouthful for it to be effective. If you would prefer, you can take this away and drink it elsewhere, however I would advise—"

"No, I'll have it now," Draco interrupted, starting forwards.

Snape's mouth twitched. "Very well," he said, shooting a mocking glare at Harry. Harry glared back defiantly. Whatever Snape thought he knew, he was wrong. Totally and utterly wrong. "I think, in this case, your impatience is entirely understandable. Doubtlessly you are keen to be rid of the unwanted… by-products of Orexis Votum." Cold black eyes bored into him.

"Something like that," Harry heard Draco mumble. He refused to break eye contact with Snape.

Wait, on second thoughts, eye contact with Snape was the last thing he needed, his pride be damned. He wrenched his gaze away and stared determinedly at the floor of Snape's office. He just knew that Snape was smirking. Bastard.

"Don't let it linger in your mouth for too long; it will react with the saliva and possibly nullify its effects."

"Right." There was a clink of glass on glass and Harry looked up to see Draco reaching out to take a thimble-like phial from Snape's hand and hold it to his mouth. Their eyes met just as the rim touched Draco's lips and Harry wondered if he was imagining the slight hesitation in Draco's face.

A second later and Harry reckoned he probably was, because Draco closed his eyes and knocked the whole dose back in one, grimacing.

Draco opened his eyes.

He looked at Harry. Then at Snape. Then at Harry again, an expression of bewilderment and panic on his face. "What—? Sir, I don't think it—"

Harry's mind chattered. It hadn't worked, they'd have to wait another month, the antidote recipe was wrong, they'd have to stay this way forever and ever and ever and

"It will wear off gradually over a period of fifteen hours," Snape said smoothly. "By the time you wake up tomorrow, all traces of the potion will be gone."

Relief washed over Draco's features. Harry scowled. "Good," Draco said, exhaling heavily. "Thank you, professor."

"If any issues arise, I'm sure you won't hesitate to harass me further. Although I assure you, the antidote is of the highest quality. Most especially as I had practice in brewing it, thanks to Longbottom's astonishing ability to ruin every potion within twenty feet of his person."

Harry vaguely felt as if he should defend his friend, but he knew it would be pointless. He was completely outnumbered. Especially now that…

"If that's all, then, professor, I'd like to return to breakfast," Harry said, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in Snape's dark, windowless office.

"Oh, of course, Potter. I would simply _hate_ to be the reason the population of Hogwarts are denied their saviour."

_You'd simply hate to shut the fuck up for once, you slimy git_. "Thank you, sir."

Without waiting for Draco – he didn't have to, now – Harry left the office, making it half way down the corridor before he stopped and leaned against the wall, feeling more drained than he had after he'd fought Voldemort. He felt like he could sleep for a week, which was stupid; he should be celebrating. No more Voldemort, and now no more awkward meetings with Snape, because there was no more Malfoy.

No more Draco.

"Are you all right?"

Harry jumped and span around. "What? Yeah, of course. You?"

"Of course," Draco repeated quietly, coming to a halt next to him.

Harry took the opportunity to study Draco one last time. He had changed in the last few years, there was no denying it. Sure, his nose and chin were still too pointy, but – especially with his hair loose like it was now – they had softened considerably since he was younger.

His eyelashes and eyebrows were a shade or two darker than his white-blond hair, but still fair enough to be completely unobtrusive, only having enough presence that you knew they were _there_.

And his lips were a beautiful pale pink, perfectly shaped, and so _soft_. Unlike Harry's stupid lips, chapped from the cold and uneven from where he'd bitten them so much. And so very dry.

Draco's lips always tasted good, too. Sugary. Harry had never told him, but he could gladly kiss Draco for hours because the flavour never seemed to fade. Even when moments before, Draco's mouth had been on Harry's—

"Harry?"

Harry snapped his gaze up from Draco's mouth. He blinked. "Right," he said. "Well, I suppose… see you, then."

"Yeah." Neither of them moved.

"Listen, Harry," Draco said after a while. "Thank you. For everything."

Those four words broke Harry's resolve. This wasn't fair, he wasn't ready to let go yet. Not letting himself think about it, he reached out and pulled Draco towards him by the front of his robes.

The first touch of lip-on-lip was devastatingly, heart-wrenchingly wonderful. Harry found himself clutching Draco's clothing like a lifeline, terrified of what would happen when they stopped. Because Harry was suddenly completely sure that this was their last kiss. There could be no more. If they stopped – _when_ they stopped – everything would change.

There were several points where the kiss could have come to a natural close, but Harry stubbornly refused to let it happen. Every time it felt like Draco was about to break away, Harry pulled him closer, pouring his soul out through his mouth, straight into Draco.

Eventually, though, he had nothing left to give.

He buried his head in Draco's shoulder, inhaling deeply. He smelt of vanilla. Strange how Harry'd never noticed before.

Draco's arms were wrapped securely around Harry's waist and Harry hated himself for feeling so _content_ at that moment.

He was so pathetic. Some saviour of the world.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he gathered himself together and straightened up. Draco's arms fell to his side.

"See you later," Harry said, hating the hoarse tone of his voice and not being able to look Draco in the face, knowing that whatever he would see there wouldn't help him. He didn't even wait for Draco to reply before he skirted around him and left the dungeons, not once looking back. The murmured _goodbye, Harry_ was probably only his imagination, anyway.

oOo

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room that afternoon, Harry couldn't help but feel discontent. He felt trapped. Suffocated. There were too many people around. Too many people, and not one of them was—

Frustrated, Harry stood up. "I'm going flying," he said shortly.

Ron lifted his head. "D'you want me to come with—?"

"No." He didn't want company. Not from anyone. Except maybe…

_Shit_, when was he going to get over this? It was _Malfoy_. Cold, cruel, spiteful Malfoy. And if he had been okay to be around for the last two months, well, he was a Slytherin. He had obviously just been doing it to get what he wanted. Because he was _Malfoy_.

He grabbed his Firebolt from the dorm and stalked through the castle, ignoring the funny looks shot his way. What did he care that pretty much everyone in the school was either (a) terrified of him or (b) in awe of him? The last thing he needed was adoration. He wished people would understand that.

_One person did_, his treacherous brain reminded him. _There's one person who's always treated you as a human rather than a saviour_.

_Yeah, but Snape doesn't dote on me either, and I'm not mooning over him_, Harry snapped at his subconscious. _Stop being an idiot._

That sounded too much like something Draco would say, and Harry cursed under his breath as he stepped into the frigid air of the Hogwarts grounds.

He barely waited until he was on the pitch before he mounted his broom and kicked off violently. He closed his eyes, turned his face into the wind and breathed in deeply. See, he was fine. He could go back to how he'd been in November with no trouble at all.

Harry urged his broom faster. Despite speeding around the pitch at a far quicker speed than he usually did, he still felt restless. The Quidditch pitch just wasn't big enough.

Harry did another loop around the edges of the rows of seats, the house colours all blurring together. The wind whipped at his face, his ears and nose stinging from the cold, his hands nearly frozen to the broom handle.

And yet it still wasn't _enough_.

Gripping the broom tightly and ignoring the ache in his fingers, Harry pressed himself low against the handle and shot out of the pitch's confinements, soaring over the expansive Hogwarts grounds, heading for the forest.

Oh, but this was better. He flew as straight as an arrow, squeezing himself downwards, narrowing his eyes and squinting ahead, blinking back the wind-induced tears that were threatening to fall.

He sped over the canopy of evergreen trees, not daring to skim his toes over the tips. At the speed he was going, he would likely lose a foot. Once he reached the place where fir gave in to oak, he veered violently off to the left. For some reason, the sight of the dead-looking trees without their leaves made him feel worse.

God, he was going so fast now. The feeling had entirely disappeared from his extremities - he had to look down to check that his hands were still gripping the broom. His knuckles were stark white against the rich brown of the Firebolt's handle. They were the hands of a dead man.

_Shut up, Potter_, he told himself abruptly, and sped up even further. If he had space in his head for morbid thoughts like that, he obviously wasn't going fast enough.

It was getting hard to see where he was going. The light was fading rapidly and everything was blurry. There was no chance of seeing where he was going; he just had to hope that he wouldn't fly straight into the castle boundaries. Or the Whomping Willow.

This was nothing like Quidditch. This was like nothing else in the world. It was mindless, reckless, completely idiotic. God, what would Draco say if he could see him now?

_He would laugh_, Harry thought firmly. _He would see how pathetic I am and he would tell everybody and laugh_.

He soared over the lake, refusing to slow down. Maybe there was something wrong with him. His mind had practically been a playground for Voldemort ever since he came to Hogwarts. Snape had also been in there and meddled, as had Dumbledore. And what with the potion he'd taken (twice) recently, why, it would be a miracle if his brain was still functioning properly. So, really, these thoughts weren't his fault. Merely a product of magical influence.

Harry let out a bark of laughter and pulled his broom upwards sharply. He came to an abrupt halt, hanging motionless in mid-air over the middle of the lake. He down, wondering if he'd be able to see the giant squid. But the murky depths of water were impenetrable, only reflecting his own face back at him. That wasn't a very comforting sight. It was no wonder nobody liked him. You'd _have_ to be under the influence of a potion to be attracted to that pale and skinny idiot.

Harry swore and kicked at the water, distorting his image. Trust Malfoy to drive him to this. Bastard.

Realising that flying wasn't helping, Harry idly flew up to Gryffindor tower, not wanting to traipse through the castle and be on the receiving end of more admiring stares. The warmth of his dorm was a welcome contrast to the icy coldness of his skin, and Harry debated whether or not to simply go to bed right then, whether or not it was only late afternoon.

The thought of the explaining he'd have to do to Ron and Hermione forced him downstairs, and he plonked himself down in one of the squashy settees in front of the fire, letting the tingling pain of his gradually warming limbs wash over him.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked up. "What?"

Hermione, a motherly look on her face that Harry didn't trust at all, came and sat beside him on the sofa. "Is it your girlfriend? Did something happen?"

Harry stared into the fire. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, we broke up."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," he repeated. Sorry was the word, all right.

"I'll be honest with you, though; I never expected it to work out between the two of you."

Great, now even Hermione was telling him that he wasn't good enough. "What d'you mean?" Harry asked, knowing he'd regret it but not being able to stop himself. "Why not?"

Hermione sighed. "Come on, Harry," she said exasperatedly. "Draco Malfoy? Really?"

Harry almost choked on his own tongue. "I don't know what you—don't be—what do you—_what_?"

"Well, I'm sorry Harry, but it's rather obvious," Hermione said briskly. "That day I saw him in the library he left a pile of books on lust potions on the desk, then he turns up at the Gryffindor table at breakfast looking like death warmed up and _apologises_ to us all, I mean, honestly.

"And _then_ you come out with this rubbish about having a girlfriend when we all know that you _never_ talk to girls unless they're your friends and suddenly Malfoy has started being nice to you and you meet up to discuss Quidditch an awful lot and what with the potion thing and Voldemort and, really, Harry. I'm not an idiot, you know."

Harry stared at her with his mouth open. "No, you're definitely not an idiot," he said weakly. "I… god, Hermione. Does Ron know?"

Hermione scoffed. "Of course Ron doesn't know. Since when does _Ron_ notice anything?"

Harry detected a note of bitterness in her voice and his loyalty to Ron battled with his dislike of knowing Hermione was unhappy. "He does like you, you know," he said finally. Well, there was no point in two of them moping about the common room.

Hermione laughed wryly and shook her head. "Sometimes I think so, and then he'll say something so damnably pig-headed that…" She paused and shot an apologetic look at Harry. "Sorry. I sound like such a _girl_, I know."

"You should talk to him," Harry said, happy that they'd at least changed the subject from him and Draco.

"_You_ should talk to _Malfoy_." … Or maybe not. "Find out if he still has feelings for you."

"He never had feelings for me in the first place," Harry assured, turning his eyes back to the fire. "It was all the potion. And weren't you having a crisis?" He shot her a mock-annoyed look.

Hermione smiled. "I'm too sensible to have crises," she said. "_You_, on the other hand…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm stupid, I know. You don't need to tell me, Hermione, I'm already aware."

Hermione sighed and held out her arm. Harry gratefully settled into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder and returning his gaze to the flames.

oOo

The following day was hardly an improvement. Harry had groggily dragged himself down to breakfast around an hour later than everybody else (he'd pretended to be asleep when Ron was leaving), and he'd only been out of the common room for ten minutes when he was accosted in a second floor corridor.

"What the _fuck_, Potter?!"

Harry, his heart sinking, turned around to see a very angry Pansy Parkinson march up to him, her wand out and pointed at his face.

"I think I remember telling you _quite clearly_ that if you were to _ever_ hurt him again then I would—"

Harry didn't even bother getting his wand out. There was no point, really. "_He_ broke up with _me_," he said instead, shooting a glance up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone. They were.

"—and hang them from the staff table… wait, what?"

"He broke up with me. Well, sort of."

"'Sort of'?" Pansy demanded. "Come on, Potter, I am not in the mood for your ambiguities and I am not afraid to hex you, defeater of the Dark Lord or not."

"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "It's complicated. But it's definitely not my doing. Not that it's Draco's fault either," he hastened to add, as Parkinson was beginning to look murderous. "But it's just… not something I would have chosen to happen. That's all."

Parkinson narrowed her eyes. "Is this to do with what you did to his father?" she asked.

Harry gaped, surprised at her conclusion (and at how plausible it was; they should have agreed on an excuse together beforehand, it was too risky to decide on something now). "No," he said. "No, it was just… circumstances. And a difference of opinion. One that I can't really see us resolving."

"But you've fallen out before, right? That weekend when he wouldn't come to meals, he was avoiding _you_. Right?"

Harry dropped his eyes, avoiding her gaze. "I think it's for good this time," he said quietly. "But I… I mean, I still, you know. _Care_ about him. So just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, okay? Not that you'd ordinarily let him, of course, I'm just saying, I don't want him to… I'm not saying that he _will_, I don't think he's bothered enough, but on the off-chance that maybe he might… I don't even know, but I don't want him to, like…"

"Potter, you're babbling," Parkinson said flatly.

"Right, yeah," Harry said, blushing. "Sorry."

She waved a hand dismissively. "You're a Gryffindor, it's not your fault. Listen, I'll pass on your message, but—"

"No, don't tell him I said anything!" Harry interrupted, panicked. The very last thing he needed right now was for Draco – _Malfoy_, he reminded himself firmly – to tell the school about Harry Potter's little crush. With the amount of media attention he was getting right now, he'd be lucky if that little titbit of information avoided the front page of the Daily Prophet. "I don't want him to know… I mean…"

"Sweet Merlin's ballsack, _boys_! _Fine_, Potter, I won't tell Draco that you still like him and miss being his boyfriend. And then I'm sure he'll tell me not to tell you that he still wants you like crazy, and this issue will never be resolved. I am going to have _no hand_ in this. Honestly!" She rolled her eyes and made to walk away from Harry.

Harry grabbed her arm.

"You don't think he does, do you?" he blurted. "Has he said anything about me? What's he been like? He hasn't found someone else already, has he?"

"Oh, fuck off," Parkinson said, and spun on her heel and stalked off, leaving Harry standing there feeling decidedly wrong-footed.

oOo

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of ceremonies, homework, gossip and definitely not missing Draco. Not one bit.

After all, Draco certainly didn't seem to be missing him. And why would he? Draco had never liked him in the first place. If that was ever under any doubt, Draco was certainly quashing them; he always looked perfectly cheerful, joking with his housemates and flirting with Pansy. He'd even started slicking back his hair again, as if anything that reminded him of the last two months had to go.

With all this in mind, Harry had blindly thrown himself into whatever he came across. He dutifully played the tragically heroic champion during the several Ministry functions he had to attend – including one in which he was rewarded an Order of Merlin, First Class – he had spent hours in the library with Hermione, revising for NEWTS (which were months away) and doing all of his homework to a ridiculously high standard, and he had worked his Quidditch team so hard that they all now hated him, but had a very good chance of claiming the cup.

And so, Draco had been relegated to the back of his mind. Sure, it was still weird whenever Harry caught sight of a flash of white-blond hair out of the corner of his eye and had to remind himself not to make eye contact. And, yeah, maybe his evenings felt strange without having to sneak off to the Room of Requirement.

And, if he was wanking three times a day to memories he had of Draco, well, as long as that stayed in his bed – or in the shower – then that was fine. The point was, once he was dressed and down the stairs, he was Harry Potter, recent saver of the world, defeater of Voldemort, seventh year Hogwarts student and Gryffindor Quidditch team captain. Nothing else.

Unfortunately, Harry's life had a habit of ruthlessly fucking him over.

It was a Friday afternoon and his last lesson of the day (Transfiguration) had just ended. He was beginning to dread the weekends; it meant more free time - fewer things to occupy his mind with. Especially now that Ron and Hermione were spending more and more time away from the common room (they both told him that nothing was official yet, but Harry suspected that would change within the next few days or so).

Harry sighed and hitched his bag up his shoulder. There was the usual bustle of movement as everyone left their classrooms and Harry probably would have missed it if he wasn't half thinking about it already.

But there it was.

A flash of white-blond hair and a pair of grey eyes turned in his direction.

Harry's heartbeat thudded in his ears and he stood in the middle of the hall, completely motionless. God, he had thought that he was over this. Draco Malfoy should not be able to have this effect on him. He was a bastard. A Slytherin. A pointy-faced git. So why did Harry have the sudden and overwhelming urge to drag him by the neck of his robes into the nearest broom cupboard and kiss him until his eyes were glazed and his cheeks flushed?

Other students in the Entrance Hall were giving the two of them curious looks, but neither of them moved. Memories assaulted Harry, breaking the weak barriers that he had been hiding them behind for the last fortnight.

Draco, grinning at him, his face pink and snow in his hair. Draco, rolling his eyes and explaining that his right hand was his _writing-to-the-parents_ hand. Draco, helping him into fiddly formal robes, falling to his knees and lacing up stiff black leather boots, winking up at him cheekily.

Draco, his wrists bound, his head thrown back in pure submission, writhing and moaning while Harry's cock was inside him, pounding into him over and over and over again.

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. His eyes were still locked with Draco's (Malfoy's) and it was impossible to look away. Not now. How could he? With memories of a time when Draco was – although it hurt to even think it – one of the most important people in Harry's life so close to the surface.

Seconds stretched into eternities and yet neither of them moved. Maybe Hermione had been right. Maybe Harry should _talk_ to Draco. Maybe Draco might still _like_ him.

Assuring himself that Hermione was almost never wrong, Harry made up his mind. He took a step forward, and Draco blinked. Harry took another step, and Draco shook his head slightly and turned away, heading towards the dungeon corridors without a word.

_Fuck_.

Harry became aware of the level of chatter surrounding him as if someone had just unmuted a Muggle television. There were too many people around. He casually walked over to the door leading down to the dungeons and squeezed through. He didn't really have any intention of _following_ Draco. That was—

That was actually a good idea.

He wasn't _stalking_ him or anything. He just had to see if… maybe, there could be a chance… Parkinson had said, after all…

Not letting himself think about it, Harry tore his schoolbag from his shoulder and rummaged frantically through it until he found his Invisibility cloak. He threw it around his shoulders and dashed down the corridor to the dungeons, worried that if he wasted any more time, he'd see sense and turn back. But he had to know.

He raced down the dungeon corridors, most likely making a terrible racket, but he couldn't hear it over the rushing sound in his ears. He shouldn't be so hopeful. But _Parkinson_ had said, and she _knew_ him.

He made it to the Slytherin common room entrance just as the stone wall was sliding shut. Somehow he managed to squeeze through in time, almost forgetting to yank the cloak after him so it didn't get stuck.

He looked around nervously, trying to calm his breathing. It wouldn't do to get caught now.

Oh, and there he was, strutting over to the corner of the room and flinging himself down in a worn black leather armchair. He didn't _look_ as if was pining for Harry. In fact, quite the opposite. He was smirking and tossing offhand remarks to the rest of the group, seemingly completely relaxed.

They all seemed to love him. Harry just stood and stared for a while, admiring Draco's effortless banter with his housemates. You could tell he was at home here, Harry mused. He was in his element.

A girl Harry vaguely recognised flounced over to Draco and sat on his lap and Harry stiffened. Maybe this was normal behaviour in Slytherin, he reasoned. It didn't have to mean any—

The girl leaned over and kissed Draco on the mouth and cold flooded through Harry's body. Draco was _such _a bastard! How could he? After everything, after the kisses on New Year's Day and the gentle touches and the murmured endearments, how could he openly and unapologetically be all over someone else? It was sickening, it was nauseating, it was _wrong_.

Feeling as if he was about to throw up, Harry turned tail and fled. He stumbled after two steps and banged into several Slytherins, but he didn't care. He now knew for certain what he'd suspected all along: he meant absolutely nothing to Draco Malfoy.


	15. Chapter 14

You guys! It's finally finished! Thank you all SO MUCH for reading; I hope you've had as much fun reading it as I had writing it (though I hope it was a little less stressful for you than it was for me ;D). If you have any comments, questions or criticisms about the story, please don't be afraid to message me and ask/rant/scream/curse my future children. I appreciate every single review, even the ones that point out the bad things. It's all in the name of learning, wot wot?

I love you all more than words could say; enjoy!

**Chapter 14**

Draco wrenched his mouth away from Queenie and stared at the common room entrance. People were making a fuss for some reason, and the portal had opened and closed by itself. Almost as if someone in an Indivisibility Cloak had used it.

He shook his head. Merlin, he was being stupid again. The castle was full of hundreds of ghosts and a poltergeist; a door opening on its own was nothing new. Just because he was broken-hearted didn't mean he had to let go of _logic_.

"What's the matter, Drake?" Queenie simpered, fiddling with a button on his robe.

Draco pulled himself together. "I appeared to have acquired a most unwelcome growth on my mouth," he said blithely. "But it's gone now, don't worry. Although there is one on my lap that I think I should get the Healers to take a look at. It's really very annoying."

Queenie looked offended for some reason. "I was only trying to be _nice_," she spat. "Panse mentioned that you were upset so I thought maybe I could help."

"If I ever need prostitution advice, I will come to you straight away," Draco assured, wondering why he still had a Daphne Greengrass draped over his knees. "Until then..."

"Fine," Queenie said viciously. "I'll go and find Theo. He's a _real_ gentleman." Draco idly wondered if Queenie had some strange mental affliction that caused her to shorten every name she came across and pushed her unceremoniously from his lap.

"Kind of proving her point there, don't you think?" a voice muttered in his ear.

"I don't know what you mean," Draco responded. "I was being _gentlemanly_ and helping her up. It's the proper thing to do."

Pansy snorted. "I think to be a gentleman, one has to stop being a raging poofter first."

"_Will you keep your voice down_?" Draco hissed, glaring at her. "And besides, I'm _not_. It was _one_ boy. And look how that turned out."

"And how many girls?" Draco flushed and said nothing. It wasn't his fault he'd never even kissed anyone before Harry. He was just… particular, that's all. Plus, he'd never really seen the point of it all. He was quite happy as an independent person, thank you very much; he didn't need to tie himself to someone else in order to function.

Until he'd taken the potion, that is. After that, it all went to shit.

"Face it, Draco," Pansy continued. "You're a fabulous, flaming, pink-clad, shirt-lifting—"

"_Thank_ you, Pansy."

The thing was, Draco just felt so… out of place, now that Harry was gone from his life. It was _weird. _Before the whole potion fiasco, Draco had been able to effortlessly fit himself into any situation, measuring up the participants and playing them expertly. But now – well, it wasn't like he didn't still do that, he wasn't stupid, but it took _work_. It was _tiring_.

It didn't help that he had to be in control _all the time_ now. Even when he was under the influence of the potion, he hadn't been this stressed. He'd mostly been able to relax once he was in the Room of Requirement, to let go and lose himself in Harry.

He couldn't do that now. And whether or not it was because his body was just used to it after two months, every time he saw Harry, he _still_ got hard. It wasn't _fair_. What had he ever done to deserve this?

Yes, okay, he no longer completely lost his mind when he was in the same room as Harry, which is what had been happening with Orexis Votum, a cloud of red-hot lust descending around him at least five times every day. No, that didn't happen anymore. Draco was in control of his mind.

Which, when you thought about it, was a whole lot worse. Because now Draco had nothing to blame for his madness. Nothing but his own warped brain.

And, of course, Harry Potter.

And he did blame Harry Potter. Whenever he wasn't fantasising about him. Or missing him… Or staring at him. Trouble was, it was very rare these days that Draco wasn't fantasising about, missing or staring at Harry, so Draco ended up hating Harry for only about two minutes a day. Which, when you thought about it, wasn't very conductive to Growing Up and Moving On.

The fact of the matter was that there wasn't very much to hate. Harry was – and the side of Draco that still had some semblance of pride cringed at the very thought – _wonderful_. He was brave and kind and he laughed at Draco's jokes and kissed magnificently well and played with Draco's hair without Draco even having to ask and really, what else could you ask for in a person? Well, possibly unconditional adoration, but Draco imagined he'd get bored of that after a while. He'd be happy if Harry just _liked_ him.

He sighed and Pansy patted him on the head, jerking him back into the real world. "Poor baby," she said. "All love sick and sad. And remind me again why you changed your hair back? I could forgive your moping if you still had sexy hair."

Draco lifted a hand and ran it over his neatly-gelled hair. "Got tired of it," he said, shrugging. "It was falling into my eyes all the time, it was really annoying."

Pansy sighed. "Some people," she began, "would commend you for being true to yourself and not caring about appearances. I am not one of those people. You're an idiot."

She flounced off without another word and Draco rolled his eyes. The truth was that he'd only worn his hair like that because Harry had liked it; it _was_ irritating to have to flick his head or brush it out of his eyes every five minutes. And since he had no cause to do anything because Harry liked it anymore…

Okay, it was a petty form of rebellion, he'd admit. But it made him feel better, so he'd continue to do it until Harry searched him out and begged him to change it back.

He thought back to when he'd seen Harry in the Entrance Hall. And Harry had seen _him_, too. They had stood staring at each other like a pair of cruelly separated lovers – which was sort of true. In a way. For Draco, at least.

And Merlin, Draco had been so close to abandoning his tact and shoving Harry into the nearest empty classroom, but for once he'd managed to get himself under control. Orexis Votum had certainly been useful for strengthening his willpower.

Draco sighed and pushed his fingers against his temples. He was in no fit state to be hanging around in the Slytherin common room. It was a miracle that nobody had picked up on his weakness and exploited it yet.

"I'm going out," he said to nobody in particular, and headed for the door.

He wandered about the castle aimlessly, not paying attention to where he was going, trusting that seven years of knowledge was enough to stop him from getting lost.

After a quarter of an hour of purposeless meandering, Draco found himself standing next to the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy for the first time in weeks. He gazed up at the tutu-adorned trolls in dismay; clearly Barnabus wasn't the only barmy one here.

And Draco's madness was obviously too great to try and repress, so there was no point trying. Obviously. Which meant that if he walked up and down the corridor three times with his and Harry's old room clear in his mind's eye, well that was okay. Just a product of his insanity.

His breath caught when the door popped into existence. What if Harry was in there? What if he'd been coming to the Room every evening for weeks, waiting for him? What if Harry secretly wanted Draco the way Draco wanted him?

Draco gripped the handle of the door tightly; his slightly sweaty hand nearly slipped straight off it again. He took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

The room looked just as it always had. Two sofas sitting invitingly against opposite walls; the desk by the window, still full of scraps of parchment that Draco never got round to clearing away; a large, comfortable four-poster bed, thick dark-blue curtains hanging down at the corners.

And no Harry.

Draco exhaled heavily. Of course there was no Harry. Harry was probably off having fun with his friends somewhere, his time spent with Draco a distant and unpleasant memory.

Lighting the torches with an absent flick of his wand, Draco flopped down on the bed, letting the memories flow over him. Merlin, at one point he'd almost been convinced that Harry liked him back, that he wasn't just meeting with Draco out of some crazy Gryffindor sense of obligation. The way that he'd looked at him sometimes. The way he'd acted under that damned potion…

Draco grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his head, disgusted at the sheer pathetic nature of his own thoughts. This is why he shouldn't be allowed out of his dormitory; a few seconds of eye-contact with a _Gryffindor_ and he descended into lunacy. His father _would_ be proud.

Then again, his father was a Squib. A smirk tugged at Draco's mouth as he remembered Harry's indulgence in his Slytherin side. And it was all for Draco.

Draco's maudlin musings in the Room of Requirement lasted for longer than he intended; it was dark outside by the time he blinked and sat up. His rumbling stomach reminded him that he'd missed dinner altogether, yet Draco felt oddly content, alone in his and Harry's room. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

He ended up returning to the Room of Requirement far more than was probably healthy – that was, pretty much every night… and during weekends. He tried to tell himself that it was a practical thing, a quiet room to work in, but really, he knew it was because the room reminded him of Harry. Every time he walked in, he half-expected to see a flash of light reflecting off round-rimmed spectacles, or a pair of silly Muggle shoes kicked thoughtlessly from odd-socked feet.

Sometimes, although he'd never admit this to anyone, he'd pretend that Harry was there. He'd walk in and greet the empty room with an offhand "Sorry I'm late." He'd read his homework out loud and ask for Harry's input – then he'd act like he had got a reply and smile and insult Harry's intelligence. He'd lie on the bed, stroking his cock, and imagining that it was Harry's hand, that Harry was above him, kissing him, holding him. Wanting him.

Maybe it _was_ a little weird. But it banished a little of the terrible emptiness that Draco had felt ever since he'd taken the antidote.

And it wasn't the influence of the potion that he was missing.

oOo

Draco was having yet another dream about Harry. It wasn't even sexual. Annoyingly, they often weren't, these days. Oh yes, Draco still had sexual dreams about Harry, dreams where he woke up desperately hard and aching for Harry's touch. Dreams where Harry's mouth was on him, teasing the head of Draco's cock with his tongue, where Harry was inside him, leaning over him and hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, where Harry stood in front of him, the two of them nose-to-nose, their cocks in each other's hands.

Yes, Draco definitely still had those dreams.

But more frequently, his dreams were about entirely stupid things. Just then, for example, he was dreaming that Harry had taken him to Muggle London and Draco had to wear those odd white shoes and a pair of jeans (with a zip!). Draco didn't know much about the Muggle world, so many details of the dream were probably a little bit on the factually incorrect side.

For instance, although it was true that Muggles were barbaric and uneducated, he doubted that they actually had roast cat stews or hot dogs on sandwiches. His imagination really was morbidly overactive.

He woke up restless and uneasy that morning and couldn't even bring himself to wank in the shower.

Breakfast was a nightmare, too. Draco's decision to forgo his morning wank came back to haunt him after he'd spent the whole meal with his eyes fixed on the Gryffindor table; he'd had to stay in the Great Hall for five minutes after most other people had left to try and calm himself down.

At least he didn't have Potions that day. It was still a rare thing that Draco could walk into Snape's classroom and focus on his work, not when Harry was just _ten feet_ away from him.

So, Draco sat through Charms and Transfiguration quite happily, forgetting his Potter problem for the moment while his teachers drilled him with NEWT revision questions (well, McGonagall drilled him; Flitwick sort of squeaked at him). He was more confident about the exams than he had expected; perhaps his study sessions with Harry in the empty Room of Requirement were paying off.

Simon Vaisey sidled up to him at lunch. "Er, Malfoy?"

"Yeah?" Draco asked vaguely, examining a fairy cake closely. "What do you reckon those bits are?"

"Uh, blueberry," Vaisey replied.

"Good," Draco said decisively, and took a bite. "Did you want something?"

"It's just," Vaisey said nervously. "We've only had three Quidditch practices in the last two months, and Potter's been working his team like crazy, and we were thinking…"

"You were thinking _what_?" Draco hissed, narrowing his eyes at Vaisey. "That I've been _neglecting_ my team? That I was too busy with my own life that I was happy to let a bunch of brainless _Gryffindors_ walk all over us and claim the cup?"

Vaisey paled, but raised his chin and looked Draco in the eye. "A little bit, yeah."

"Hmm, you're probably right," Draco mused lightly, taking another bite of his fairy cake. "Quidditch practice tonight, then. Half six. Spread the word. And _don't_ be late."

oOo

Merlin, it was a good thing that Vaisey had kicked him into action. The team had definitely lost something over their two month respite.

That something was _skill_.

"Come on!" Draco yelled at Victoria Ackerman, a fifth year chaser whose neatly-braided auburn hair reached down to her backside. "You've been on the team for a year, surely by now you've learnt how to actually _catch_ a Quaffle! Bloody gingers. And Crabbe, that's not a Bludger, that's Goyle's head, so stop whacking it." Although, to be fair, Goyle didn't seem to be able to feel it.

Draco pulled his broom upwards and surveyed the disasters who were supposed to win Slytherin the Quidditch cup. He snorted in disgust; not a small amount of his distaste was aimed at himself. He'd been so preoccupied with his own problems that he'd neglected his house – in Slytherin, that was neigh on unforgivable. Slytherins were (usually) clever enough to realise that they had to look out for one another; if they didn't, who would?

Determined to do a better job and to leave his strange fantasies safely in the Room of Requirement, Draco dived back down to join the others with a new purposeful attitude. This was his team. And they _would_ win.

Two hours later, worn out both mentally and physically, Draco strolled into the Room of Requirement and flung his cloak onto the bed. He turned to the desk, considering whether or not to finish off the first draft of his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, and stopped in his tracks.

Maybe his insanity had finally reached its peak. That would explain it. He'd spent so long pretending that Harry was here that his imagination had gone one step further.

Because it looked an awful lot like Harry Potter was sitting on the window ledge. The very same window ledge that Draco sat on to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice.

A shiver ran down Draco's spine at the thought that Harry had been watching _him_. Whether or not that was true, Harry was certainly watching him now. Watching him with wary eyes, one knee bent, his whole body tense.

_Say something_, Draco ordered himself. _Just talk to him, be nice_.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted accusingly, and promptly wanted to drown himself in the lake. "I didn't mean – that sounded – why are you here?"

Harry stood up. A part of Draco's brain mourned the loss of the sight of Harry's denim-clad leg bent attractively at the knee, but he shushed it hastily. This was serious business.

"I don't know," Harry said. Draco tried not to take note of the fact that these were the first words Harry had said to him since that devastatingly wonderful kiss straight after Draco had taken the antidote. "I guess I just… missed it, a little."

He missed it. Harry missed the room. Did that mean that Harry missed Draco, too? Maybe Harry still thought of him occasionally. It was too much to hope for that Harry thought of him _often_, but Draco would definitely be happy with occasionally. Maybe Harry even thought of him _frequently._

Possibly-imaginary-Harry cleared his throat and Draco belatedly realised that he'd been staring. "What about you, do you come here a lot?"

"No," Draco lied promptly.

A smile pulled at the corners of Harry's mouth and it was all Draco could do not to reach out and _touch_. Just to make sure that this was real, that it was actually happening. "You seemed awfully familiar with the place when you walked in."

"We came here fairly regularly in the old days. Of course I'm familiar with it." Then, when the smile disappeared from Harry's lips, "And every night for the past month isn't a lot. A perfectly normal amount, I'd say."

Harry let out a small, surprised laugh and Draco tried not to feel smug. _He'd_ made that happen.

"So, how have you been?" Harry asked. Ooh, Draco's imagination was clever. That sounded exactly like something that real Harry would say. But Draco wasn't fooled that easily.

He considered the question. The truthful answer was, of course, pretty terrible, but he couldn't say that. But then again, just in case this wasn't a delusion, he didn't want to give Harry the idea that he'd been wonderful without him, just in case Harry… well, it was unlikely, but Draco wasn't about to put his meagre chances at risk.

"Not brilliant, but you know. I've been coping," he said lightly. There. He didn't sound as pathetic as he felt, but he still gave the impression that he wasn't satisfied without Harry. Now… "How about you?"

Harry's eyes locked onto his. "Yeah, about the same," he said, and Draco's breath caught. Harry was just echoing him, it could mean nothing. Or else fake-Harry was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

Draco dug a little deeper. "I've barely seen you," he said casually. "I figured you were off partying somewhere, celebrating your freedom and all that."

Harry laughed. Draco thought it sounded rather bitter. He wondered if that was something that he'd make up. "Not likely. Ron and Hermione have finally got together, so I've been studying a lot. Reckon I've got my NEWTs in the bag thanks to their – urges."

"How productive of you," Draco commented.

"Yeah."

They fell into silence, each intently studying the other. Draco felt the need to elaborate slightly on his 'not brilliant' statement.

"I miss you," he said quietly.

Harry said nothing, though his eyes widened. Oh, shit, Draco had gone too far. He'd said too much, he'd exposed his weakness, this wasn't a fake Harry at all and real Harry would be disgusted, he'd leave and tell the whole school that Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter—

"I miss you too."

Draco's brain seemed to suffer a sudden lack of oxygen and he inhaled sharply to try and clear his onslaught of light-headedness. He was now pretty sure that this Harry was just a figment of his imagination, because Draco's life was never this kind to him. Going by that logic, Draco was okay to tell him anything. Imaginary people couldn't judge him.

"I think about you all the time," Draco told imaginary Harry softly. "I dream about you. I can't get you out of my head, it's torture seeing you around the castle knowing that I can't… that we're not…"

"Draco," Harry said softly. Draco wondered when he'd become so close. He didn't _look_ imaginary, only two feet away from him. He looked pretty authentic, actually. Well, from what Draco remembered. He wasn't really sure _what_ was real anymore. Maybe he'd imagined the whole of the last three months. That would explain a lot.

It was damn near certain that this Harry wasn't real, Draco mused, because he was sure that eyes shouldn't be that green, hidden behind glasses or not. And were Harry's eyelashes really that long? Because they weren't manly world-saving eyelashes at all. They were actually pretty girly eyelashes. And Harry – real or not – was really close now and Draco was almost positive that real people didn't get this close to other people. Unless, of course, they were going to _kiss_—

_Oh_.

Oh, well now. If Draco was imagining this, then his imagination deserved a hearty congratulations, because this was just as he remembered. No, it was _better_, because he wasn't drowning under the potion's influence. He was hyperaware of everything; how perfectly Harry's mouth fit against his, how the side of his nose squashed slightly against Harry's, how if he tilted his head _just so_, Harry's breath left him all at once and he opened his mouth to Draco's questioning tongue.

Merlin, this was like Draco's first kiss. No, it _was_ his first kiss; nothing was forcing him to do this, it was just him and Harry. And it was wonderful.

Harry pulled his mouth away and Draco's heart stuttered. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, peering anxiously at Harry. Surely he can't have messed things up already. Not when everything was starting to go well.

"No, it's just…" Harry grinned and buried his face in Draco's neck and inhaled deeply.

Draco let out a relieved breath and laid a hand on the back of Harry's head, carding his fingers through his messy black hair. "Why are you sniffing me, Potter?" he asked, still too happily bemused to inject irritation into his voice.

Harry made a noise of contentment in the back of his throat. "You smell…" he said, somewhat dreamily, "_Vanilla_."


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Fuck you, Potter!"

Not-so-carefully stacked scraps of parchment flew off the desk as a skinny boy with dishevelled pale blond hair hurled around the Room of Requirement. He was soon followed by another; an even skinnier boy with even messier black hair and a wide, cheerful grin.

"Don't be a tosser, you know I didn't mean it!"

The blond skidded to a halt and ducked behind the post of a magnificent four-poster bed.

"It was your idea, Draco, I heard you myself."

The slightly shorter bespectacled boy advanced on the blond with a predatory gleam in his eye. He brandished a red and gold scarf and tried to smile appealingly.

"I was just _reminiscing_! You _know_ that!"

Draco backed away, his eyes fixed on the scarf. His voice shook slightly when he tried to deter his companion.

"In fact, seeing as I've done it before, perhaps _I _should tie _you_ up instead."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, leaning into Draco's and letting his breath play over Draco's ear. "If you're so against the idea, why are you _hard_?"

Draco closed his eyes and leaned into Harry's touch. Sometimes he hated the power Harry had over him. "Fuck you," he breathed.

Harry's laugh sent shivers down Draco's spine. "You wish," he returned, and reached his hand down…

… pulling his wand from his pocket and murmuring against Draco's neck, "_Incarcerous_."

Draco's eyes widened and he pulled on the scarf binding his wrists tightly to the headboard of the bed. He ignored the rush of desire that flooded through him. "You _bastard_," he hissed.

Harry chuckled and crawled – _crawled_, like a fucking _cat_ – up the bed, hands lingering quite unnecessarily. He kissed Draco deeply and began undressing him and, really, Draco could hardly _stop_ him. So if he moaned and arched up into Harry's touch, well, he was just playing his part. That was all.

No, screw that, Harry was bloody amazing and Draco knew it. _Merlin_, did he know it.

"You… you're…" he gasped, needing to share his revelation.

Harry kissed him. "Shh," he said once they'd parted. "Just let go, it's okay."

"Yes," Draco agreed mindlessly, and pushed his hips up into Harry's hand.

He vaguely heard Harry unpopping the cork of a bottle and his breathing sped up in anticipation of what was to come. Er, no pun intended.

Harry prepared him slowly and tenderly – so slowly, in fact, that Draco had practically lost the power of speech by the time Harry deemed him ready and finally – _finally –_ pushed in; all Draco could manage was a breathless "_Shit_."

"I'm not hurting you?" Harry panted, a single bead of sweat making a trail down the side of his face. Draco shook his head helplessly and rotated his hips, determined that he shouldn't be the only one who couldn't formulate a sentence. It seemed to work; Harry growled and thrust forwards _hard_.

_Oh fucking Merlin, you're good at that_.

Draco pulled on his restraints, that one bead of sweat taunting him. He wanted to be able to reach out, to touch Harry, to lick it off. He wanted to be able to dig his fingers into Harry's shoulders as he rode Harry's cock.

_Shit, how did I live without this?_

Harry shifted, balancing himself on one hand while the other made a clumsy grab for Draco's leaking cock. Draco let out a helpless whine as Harry began to stroke it jerkily, his thrusts increasing in tempo and his breath coming in short gasps.

_Fuck, Harry, I love you I love you I love you I love—_

"Fuck!"

Draco's world exploded into brightness and he came spectacularly, dimly registering Harry burying himself deep into Draco's arse and letting out a litany of hoarse curses.

Draco kept his eyes closed after he'd come down from his climax, and hummed contentedly as Harry cast cleaning charms over them and settled on the bed, his head on Draco's shoulder.

Harry smiled, although of course Draco didn't see it, and placed a gentle kiss against Draco's neck, waving his hand over Draco's bound wrists and whispering with perfect tenderness, "_Finite."_


End file.
